


Lost Souls

by orphan_account



Category: Bleach
Genre: Aizen has not been sentenced yet in this universe, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials, Bleach + daemons (because my muse whispered in my ear and I was helpless), Canon Divergence - 1000 Year Blood War Arc, Canon Divergence - Fake Karakura Town Arc, F/F, F/M, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Post-1000 Year Blood War Arc, Probably Gay Sex (at some point), Rebuilding, The Trial and Sentencing of Aizen Sousuke, soul bonds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His Dark Materials AU, Soul Bond AU.<br/>--<br/>"Some of us, the lucky ones, we see the world in each other. What a lonely existence it would be otherwise."<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before the Trial - Day One

**Author's Note:**

> Main Pairing: Hirako Shinji/Sousuke Aizen  
> Beta Pairing: Ukitake Jushirou/Kyouraku Shunsui  
> Theta Pairing: Hinamori Momo/Hitsugaya Toshirou  
> Other Pairings: Kira Izuru/Hisagi Shuuhei - Soifon/Shihouin Yorouichi - Kurotsuchi Mayuri/Kisuke Urahara -Kurosaki Ichigo/Kuchiki Rukia - (past)Shiba Miyako/Shiba Kaien
> 
> Who wants a romantic court drama/mystery/ political conspiracy drama/soul bond fic/ his dark materials crossover? I do! So I did it/am doing it. If you're not put off by blatant comma abuse, enjoy!  
> 

It was a mild day in Serentei. The air was sweet smelling and clean, the wind fanning his face delicately, ruffling his already unruly hair. The sun shone just warm enough to be pleasant, and if he listened carefully, he could hear birdsong riding the wind from the forest beyond the clearing. 

Kyouraku Shunsui, newly appointed Captain-Commander of the Gotei thirteen court guard squads, ambled along the cobble-stone path that wound between memorial stones with absent-minded ease. Souls that died in Serentei were reborn in the transient world. There were no bodies to be buried, so there was no need for traditional graveyards like the ones humans used. Instead, their legacies were immortalized here: in the Planes of Memory.

Kyouraku’s eyes swept over the numerous dedications, the innumerable fresh-cut flowers in every conceivable colour blanketing the landscape. He sighed and tilted his hat down. 

_Too many lives lost, always too many…_

Beyond the rise, Kyouraku spied the most recent dedications made to those who passed on during the Sternritter invasion. He stopped before the central-most memorial stone, raised slightly higher than the rest, and read the inscription with his one good eye. 

> _Genryuusai Shigekuni Yamamoto_
> 
> _Founding Captain-Commander of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads_
> 
> _May he stand for all time as the shining example of the true resolve of the Shinigami, and the enduring strength of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. May his deeds pass into legend, and his glory remain undiminished by the passage of time._

“Here’s to you old man,” he drawled.

Kyouraku knelt before the memorial and pulled out a small bottle of sake from inside his robes. He poured one out for his mentor and kept the rest for himself, mind wandering through a field of memories as he idly sipped. The stripes on his back, long since scarred, seemed to burn anew. It felt like he was back in the academy, and Jushirou was rubbing salve into the lashes the old man had given him with gentle hands and a worried frown. He was such a brat back then. Bad enough that it took ten lashes and weeks of painful recovery for Shunsui to stop acting out and get serious about his training. Jushirou, of course, was the perfect student. The old man loved Juu. Loved them both, in his way. Shunsui tilted his hat down.

There was a rustle of grass behind him, and Kyouraku felt Aylie come up on his right side and rest her sleek white head on his thigh. Absently, he ran his fingers through her long coat. She peered up at him with all-knowing green eyes, but remained tactfully quiet as he grieved. 

Just as Aylie was beginning to nod off, Kyouraku nudged her over to scratch her belly and she came alert again, tail wagging happily. 

Kyouraku smiled, despite his sombre mood. “You’re such a dog sometimes Lee-Lee”

Aylie scrunched up her snout and looked at Kyouraku disapprovingly, nipping reproachfully at his fingers.

Kyouraku chuckled. “I know, big bad wolf. I’m sorry.”

Aylie huffed, but she was too agreeable a daemon to give him much grief about it, or hold a grudge. As always, Kyouraku was eternally grateful for her leniency.

“How is he?” Kyouraku asked.

“He overextended himself,” said Aylie, sounding exasperated, but not surprised.

“Shagra is keeping him happy?”

Aylie huffed a laugh. “She always does. Damn cat, pushing him too far as usual. Has him up and moving around if you can believe that? I blame you y’know.”

Kyouraku laughed, unsurprised by her grumbling. Aylie was a notoriously protective daemon. “You know Shagra hates it when you call her that,” he said, because Shagra the panther hated cat almost as much as Aylie the wolf hated dog. When it came to their pride, the two daemons were almost too much alike. Given that Ukitake had an ego-driven competitive streak a mile wide (that the man would absolutely never own up to), and Kyouraku was notoriously vain, and something of an egotist himself, he couldn’t say he was particularly surprised. 

Aylie shrugged, green eyes dancing teasingly beneath a ruffled section of her otherwise sleek white coat. “I know,” she said, tongue lolling out of her mouth happily. Kyouraku moved the hair out of her eyes and Aylie snuffled, rolling over onto her belly and resting her head on her paws. “If she really hated it the lazy ass would tell me so, but she loves the attention too much. Big vain lug of a cat.”

Kyouraku got a good grip on her scruff and shook a bit. “Hey, watch who you’re insulting,” he teased.

Aylie stood and shook out her coat, displacing his hand. “Yeah yeah. Let’s go make sure your stupid daemon hasn’t killed Shiro yet,” she said with a sharp-toothed canine grin.

Kyouraku let Aylie lead the way back to her division, amused as always by the double-takes the pair got from roughly half of the officers they passed on the journey. The other half, undoubtedly under the impression that Aylie was his daemon rather than Ukitake’s, didn’t spare the pair a second glance. It was something of a local legend in Serentei that no one knew, between Ukitake and himself, which daemon belonged to which Captain. As far as Kyouraku could tell, it was split roughly fifty-fifty one way or the other. A small percentage (Kyouraku called them the romantics—Nanao called them the idiots) believed that the two captains were soul mates and Aylie and Shagra belonged to both of them equally. Needless to say, this was Kyouraku’s favourite theory of the bunch. If only because it never failed to make Jushirou smile, and shake his head in that exasperated, slightly embarrassed way that made Kyouraku feel like a schoolboy with a crush all over again. Even after all these year, Juu never failed to make his heart leap up into his throat with a single warm look or an easy smile. 

Kyouraku shook his head at himself, amused, as always, by how easily and completely Ukitake Jushirou has ensnared him.

Up ahead, standing just before the bridge to Ugendo where Ukitake was resting, Kyouraku saw the Central 46 messenger he had been avoiding all morning lying in wait. 

Kyouraku stiffened and tipped his hat forward to cover his eyes. Really, it figures they would look for him at Ugendo. Where else would he be when Ukitake was recovering? Aylie hung back to flank his side, walking close enough that he could feel the heat of her body through his uniform. Somewhat relaxed by her presence, Kyouraku sighed and forced himself to acknowledge the messenger, instead of breezing past in a burst of shunpo like he wanted to. 

“Morning,” he greeted casually, tipping his hat up just enough for the man to verify his identity. He spied the red wax seal on the letter tucked under the mans arm. “My my, that’s official looking.”

“Captain-Commander Kyouraku Shunsui, you are hereby summoned to appear as witness for the prosecution in the trial of Sousuke Aizen, beginning in three days time. Details pending.” The messenger handed Kyouraku the gold embossed letter under his arm, and Kyouraku raised an eyebrow at the lavish presentation. Immediately, he deduced the letter was not Central 46’s doing. The heft of the paper alone said there was payment of some kind inside, and the quality of the paper said noble family. His lips turned down in distaste. He did not appreciate being bribed. Especially not by nobles. Especially when he was in the dark about for what purpose he was being bribed. “Additionally, you have been requested to attend a pre-trial meeting at the honoured Tamura family manor residence. Invitation is enclosed.”

The messenger bowed perfunctorily and disappeared. Kyouraku stared after him, troubled and thinking deeply. 

“Shun,” Aylie said quietly, sounding concerned and a little disgruntled. “Whatever this is about, it isn’t good.”

“No,” he agreed. “No it isn’t.”

Aizen himself was bad enough, add in one of the four great noble families, and various underhanded deals, political power plays, and noble family politics, and it was very nearly disastrous. For whatever reason the Tamura family was personally invested in the trial of Sousuke Aizen, and Shunsui needed to find out why.

Aylie looked up at him, a furrow between serious green eyes. “How do you want to do this?”

Kyouraku knew what she was really asking: do you want to tell Jushirou now, or wait? Aylie was something of an anomaly when it came to daemons. She would keep things from Jushiriou in the interest of keeping him healthy if Shunsui believed it was for the best. She trusted him to make decisions that affected her and Jushirou’s life, and she did it without hesitating. 

Shunsui scratched behind her ears fondly. “I think we should tell him, don’t you? We wouldn’t want a repeat of last time.”

Aylie winced, no doubt remembering the dressing down they both got last time they kept something from Jushirou ‘for his own good’. “Yeah…Probably a good idea. Shiro didn’t look at me or pat me for a week last time. It was _horrible_.” 

Shunsui grimaced. “You and me both.”

Her ears flattened in displease at the memory, but she gave him a fierce look. “I’d still do it though. If you wanted me to. If it was the best thing for him.” 

“I know Lee-Lee. Now let’s talk strategy…”

\--

Ukitake Jushirou sipped his tea, and looked at the co-conspirators sitting opposite, both far too eager for comfort. Shagra curled around his back lazily, her head nestled against his hip, her sharp grey eyes tracking Aylie’s restless, thumping tail with amusement. The panther daemon made an excellent backrest, and doubled as a heat-pack for his sore muscles. His whole body was pretty much one big ache at the moment due to the strain constant coughing put on his body. Shagra was a godsend. Her other half on the other hand…

“I don’t like it, but I unfortunately understand why you’d think it was a good idea,” he admitted, looking at Shunsui in way the other man couldn’t possible interpret as positive. It was tacit acceptance at the most. If Shunsui was going to continue bringing him idiotic plans that put the man’s position in jeopardy unnecessarily then he was going to continue getting a lukewarm reception. Honestly, there was no need to jeopardise his career for the sake of some information he could easily get through family connections. “You don’t want to go to your family,” he said, making no effort to disguise his displeasure. 

Shunsui titled his hat forward to hide his face, and Aylie obligingly knocked it from his head, responding automatically to Jushirou’s annoyance. Shunsui rubbed the back of his neck. “Eh, Juu, you know how my family are. It’s too bothersome.”

Jushirou placed his teacup down carefully, and Shunsui tracked the movement with trepidation. “So your plan is to break into the Central 46 archives, over which you have no jurisdiction, in order to steal sealed files pertaining to the financial backing the Tamura family has provided to members of the Central 46 judiciary over the years. This, you say, _may_ provide evidence of a of pattern of suspicious spending, somehow connected to the trial of Sousuke Aizen. Is that right?” Shunsui nodded. Jushirou smiled pleasantly. Aylie’s tail stopped wagging. “So to recap, you are not only planning to risk your position as the Captain-Commander of the Gotei Thirteen by committing treason—a role, I may add, that no one but you is currently able to step into, myself included— you are also risking your life.” Jushirou leant forward, eyes narrowing. Shagra grumbled in displeasure against his hip “All of that instead of going to your mother, the head of the Kyouraku, and the gossipiest nag I have ever met, and asking discreetly, because—and I can’t stress enough how idiotic this sounds—it is _too bothersome_.”

Shunsui opened his mouth, and closed it again. He did this two more times before apparently giving up on providing a rational explanation for not wanting to ask his mother for help. “It sounds stupid when you say it like that,” he grumbled, mouth twitching wryly.

Despite his exasperation with his long-time friend, Jushirou felt himself responding. “It is Shunsui. It really _really_ is. If you go forward with this idiotic plan and somehow manage to come back alive, I will think less of you for eternity. That is how stupid this plan is compared to your many and varied other options.”

“Ah, you think I should go to Kuchiki then?” Shunsui looked like he had considered this briefly before deciding he would rather walk around with hot coals attached to his nether-regions. Jushirou didn’t blame him. Old Ginrei was notorious for calling in centuries-old favours in situations that usually ended up costing the indebted individual their life. No one wanted to owe Kuchiki Ginrei anything if they could help it. 

Jushirou shook his head. “God no. I think you should talk to Byakuya.”

Shunsui hummed, doubtful, but considering. “He’s only been the head of the Kuchiki for a handful of decades. You really think he’d know anything of importance? The Tamura were making back-door deals when the Kuchiki were still under old man Yama’s thumb. They haven’t been active in politics in a century. If they did anything incriminating, it would have been long before Byakuya was in a position of influence.”

Jushirou took a long sip of his tea, thinking. “Byakuya would have access to the Kuchiki family archives. The Kuchiki have been the unofficial record keepers of the Gotei since the beginning. The heads of family have always taken down a personal history of their time as clan head. Byakuya is currently writing his own. It would be biased information, of course. You would have to be prepared for exaggerations and inconsistencies in the accounts, but it would be useful. The Kuchiki, along with the Tamura and the Kyouraku, were all very involved in the formation and the running of Central 46 up until about century ago. They still are, just to a lesser extent. At the very least you would know what cases the Tamura took a personal interest in.”

Shunsui moved around the low tea-table and slid in beside Jushirou, displacing Shagra’s hind legs. Shagra grumbled and cracked open a sleepy eye, going back to sleep almost immediately when Aylie padded over and curled up next to her, their sides pressed together. 

Shunsui wove their fingers together and pressed his mouth to Jushirou’s white hair, just breathing. Shunsui closed his eyes and sighed, ruffling Jushirou’s hair. “What would I do without you?”

Jushirou closed his eyes as well, hand drifting upwards to rub along Shunsui’s bicep under the captain’s haori and shihakushou. Shunsui hummed happily, parting Jushirou’s hair to kiss behind his ear and nuzzle the soft skin. Jushirou manoeuvred Shunsui into the curve of his body, let him press his forehead into his neck and rest for a while. 

“Tired?” he murmured.

Shunsui grumbled, low and rough along with Shagra. Jushirou smiled fondly, scratching Shagra behind the ear where she was still occupying his right side, while he settled Shunsui against his left. He ran a hand through Shunsui’s hair, removing his hair tie and the fresh flower sprig the man cut from Jushirou’s own personal garden that morning. He touched the flower fondly. Not many people realised, but Shunsui cut a flower from his private gardens before he left Ugendo every morning. Shunsui said it was so he could keep Jushirou with him all day, since he couldn’t be by his side where he belonged. Jushirou pressed the flower to his lips and rested his head against his partner’s crown. His eyes fluttered closed, and his hand reached out to Aylie and Shagra, touching the place where the two daemons pressed together. Just like that, the four of them slipped into sleep.

\--

Hitsugaya Toushirou stood up from his desk in the offices of the tenth division headquarters and beckoned for the runner from the first-division to deliver his paperwork to Kyouraku's tenth seat. The runner left with a quick bow. Hitsugaya smiled wryly to himself as he packed up his desk to head home. 

Kyouraku. He still couldn’t believe that layabout was Captain-Commander. There was no way Toshirou could look that man in the eye and call him sir with a straight face. It just wasn’t going to happen. It was a good thing his lack of respect didn’t seem to bother the recently promoted General. Or Toshirou assumed it didn't. It was hard to tell since Kyouraku never actually turned up anywhere he was supposed to be. Just this morning the man actually _missed_ the Captains meeting. Ukitake was absent too, but the sickly captain was still recovering from having his internal organs scrambled by the right hand of the spirit king (Toshirou missed a lot when he was an almost-zombie). His absence was expected. Then again, Toshirou considered, if Ukitake was absent, wasn’t it expected that Kyouraku would be also? As far as he could tell the two were inseparable. Their partnership was legendary among the Gotei. The two men were notorious gossip fodder: known equally for their kindness and wisdom, and their utterly terrifying prowess on the battlefield. Personally, Toshirou would rather slit his wrists than face the two of them in battle. Toshirou was honestly surprised that they weren’t promoted together. A Captain-Commander with Kyouraku’s healthy body and razor-sharp mind, and Ukitake’s dedication and strategic genius was one he would follow to any end. They were already practically joined at the hip. It would make sense— if they could spare anymore Captains. 

Already, Abarai, Madarame and Hisagi had been elevated to captain— too early in his opinion, and in the opinion of most of the senior captains, including Kyouraku who had personally signed off on the advancements. All of them had achieved Bankai within the last five years. Usually a captain trained their Bankai for decades before they were promoted. Toshirou had only had his Bankai for three years before he was elevated to the rank of captain, but he was told he was something of an anomaly among shinigami, and probably shouldn't be a role model for any young officer.

(Also, there were extenuating circumstances influencing his rise to captain involving his own captain’s disappearance that he deliberately did not think about, because he was pretty sure that _also_ came back to that traitorous bastard Aizen, and if he thought about Aizen, especially after the summons he got today to appear as a witness at his trial, he was _literally_ going to scream with rage.)

He completed the shinigami academy curriculum in under a year, and released his shikai within one week of receiving his zanpakuto. Abarai and Hisagi had completed the regular six year academy program, and Madarame hadn’t even gone to the academy. He’d bullied his way into the eleventh division along with Hisagi’s new lieutenant Ayesegawa. 

Toshirou frowned as he strapped Hyourinmaru to his back and checked to make sure everything was in order before he turned off his desk lamp.

They weren’t ready. In an ideal world future captains would be mentored by existing captains for years until their releases were up to scratch, but because of the war they no longer had that luxury. They needed to restructure, build up stronger than before, but they just didn’t have the man-power. Already, seated positions were being taken by promising green academy recruits, because they were the only ones with shikai releases left to fill the positions. One of the only saving graces was that Kuchiki hadn’t been promoted to captain along with the other three. Her Bankai had potential, but she would need to be mentored for, ideally, forty or fifty years before she was ready to become a captain. Hopefully she would have the opportunity to develop a strong Bankai before they moved her up. She’d get herself killed otherwise. It was bad enough the other three were still fresh enough to think having Bankai made you invincible. Bankai, like any other technique, needed to be honed through dedicated practice. The only one who consistently dedicated himself to practice was Hisagi, and that was only because (he knew through Momo) he was training Kira to release his own Bankai.

Toshirou sighed to himself. 

He really hoped this wasn’t going to end as badly as he thought it would. Maybe peace would stick this time. Maybe after the trail, after Aizen was put away for good, they could relax a bit, and he would have no reason to worry. Maybe they could really have _peace_.

Hitsugaya barely resisted the urge to laugh.

Peace. 

Right.

Hitsugaya took out the doona and pillow he kept in the stationary cupboard and gently manoeuvred Matsumoto so she would at least be comfortable passed out on the couch tonight. After a moments consideration, he moved the hair out of her face too, grimacing at the drool that came with it. Hitsugaya caught sight of the gibbous moon, shining starkly silver against the abnormally clear night sky. It was going to be a cold night. He tucked his dozy lieutenant in, just to be sure she was warm enough. God knows he didn’t want to be called an ungrateful brat for leaving her to freeze. Just because the woman was old enough to be his mother, didn’t mean he enjoyed being treated like a kid. In fact, he hated it. He hated it a lot. Not that he could tell her that, because she’d call him an ungrateful brat and the cycle would repeat. Really, it was just easier to make sure she was warm so she had nothing to complain about.

Hitsugaya left Matsumoto snoring on the couch, placing a kido barrier on the doors and windows before he left the office. It would keep anyone from entering, and would alert him if Matsumoto passed through, without impeding or alerting her. Hitsugaya created the kido spell after Hinamori broke out of her hospital room during Aizen’s fake death and public betrayal. It took a bit of trial and error to get it right, but he managed to get something he was happy with in the end. It was the equivalent of a mid-eighties kido barrier. Overkill probably, but Hitsugaya was a cautious man. It had saved his life more than once in the past.

On his way home, Hitsugaya detoured through the tenth division training fields, flash-stepping past training ground 14 and into the forest at the base of the small mountain-range that separated the outer-limits of the tenth and eleventh division. He slowed to a stop where the trees started to taper off and rocks that size of small houses became the norm. A little further up the rock and shale incline, and he was at the base.

From where he was standing at the base of the foremost mountain—a monolith about the height of Sougyoku Hill—Toshirou could just make out what he was looking for: an entrance to a cave, about the height of Toushirou himself. He reached a hand out and touched the kido barrier that surrounded the base of the mountain, stretching up to seal the small mouth of the cave. His touch created a feedback of blue and purple light that rippled through the barrier like it was a sinuous body of water. The light condensed close to where he was standing, the purples and blues forming a series of small, smudged handprints (and what looked like, but couldn’t possibly be) bite marks near the base. Toshirou frowned. Fifty years he had been checking this barrier for signs of tampering, strengthening it as he learnt more advanced kido, developing his own kido to modify the initial barrier so it was next to unrecognisable, keeping it hidden behind layers and layers of _see-me-not_ spells, and he had never had any trouble. Today, evidence suggested a child found the barrier and tried to naw its way through like a wild animal. 

Toshirou glowered. His eye twitched. 

He only knew one child feral enough and stupid enough to try and bite their way through a kido barrier, and coincidently, she lived next door. “Tomorrow I’m paying Zaraki a visit,” he muttered angrily, before disabling the barrier using his rietsu signature and flash-stepping up to the mouth of the cave. 

Once inside, he reset the barrier and breathed a sigh of relief. No matter how many times he did this, he was always anxious until he was safely inside with the barrier closed behind him. No one could ever find this place. No one could ever know. Above all else, it had to be kept hidden.

Toshirou stepped through the entrance to the inner cave and was immediately met by blazing teal eyes that matched his own, and a plume of fire hitting the spot where he stood a moment ago. Having prepared himself to flash-step in time, he was, outwardly, barely ruffled by the hostile greeting, but inwardly he ached. It always hurt seeing her like this: angry, hurt, scared, betrayed. She’d never admit to any of it. She was too proud. But Toshirou knew his own soul. 

“Vashni,” he said quietly. 

“Burn!” She bellowed, breathing more fire in his direction.

This time he flash-stepped so he was standing on top of her snout, right before her eyes. This close, Toshirou was uncomfortably aware that he was approximately the height of one of her luminous teal eyes, that she could blow fire out of her nose and roast him at any moment. He was equally aware though, that those plumes of fire she aimed at him before were smaller and far slower than ones he’d seen her blow against their enemies in the Rukon. If she wanted to kill him, she could. They both knew it. They both knew everything. It was impossible not to. They were one being after all—one soul in two bodies. She could no more kill him than she could kill herself.

“What do you want brat?” She growled. “Why do you persist in seeing me when you so obviously loathe my very existence?”

Hitsugaya resisted the urge to sigh. He couldn’t count how many times they’d been over this. How many times he’d apologised for locking her away. “I don’t hate you Vashni. You know that.”

“Do I?” She sneered. “Tell me more about what I know, little idiot.”

His eye twitched. “I’m trying to be mature about this. The least you could do is talk to me like I’m an adult.”

Vashni smirked. He felt her upper lip rise and it almost knocked him over. “I’ll treat you like an adult when you start acting like one brat.”

“What?!”

“You heard me. Let me out of here and then we’ll talk.”

_Did you just try to blackmail me?_

A vein throbbed in his head. “I can’t just let you out Vashni! Why do you think you’re in here!”

“I assumed it was because you were an egotistical little brat who didn’t know how to handle a powerful, majestic, beautiful, strong daemon like me! You were so _scared_ when I presented. You’re _still scared_!” She roared, plumes of smoke billowing from her nostrils.

“It was a rhetorical question!” Hitsugaya roared back.

They stared at one another and panted. Hitsugaya gritted his teeth. “And I’m _not_ scared.”

“Are too,” Vashni muttered.

Hitsugaya growled. “I’m not doing this with you!” He ran a hand through his hair, momentarily frustrated beyond words. “ _God_ , why are you so _annoying_?”

Vashni looked affronted, or he imagined she did. He couldn’t see all of her face from this angle. “Why are _you_ so annoying?” she shot back. “I’m not the one that locked his daemon away in the dark like some kind of prisoner. I’m not the one who turned his back on his soul. I’m not the one who _separated_ us!”

Hitsugaya threw his hands up. “And _I’m_ not the one that settled as a dragon! A _dragon_. You’re the size of my division barracks. Where else was I supposed to put you? You don’t fit anywhere! You’re a _monster_!”

The moment he said it, he regretted it. He didn’t think she was a monster. He loved her. He wanted her to love him again too. He was just so _angry_ with her. Angry with her for not understanding why he couldn’t, in good conscience, just let her go. They were separated—as much as it is possible to separate a shinigami and a daemon. She could go anywhere, do anything, and he couldn’t control her. She’d killed before. It was his responsibility to make sure that never happened again. Compared to that, his feelings meant little. Her feelings meant less.

Vashni’s eyes grew cold. “Well. Now we get right down to it don’t we. You haven’t said that word in a while. Feel good?”

Hitsugaya jerked his chin. “You deserve it,” he said, voice strained with emotion—and fear. She could probably smell it. Still, despite how much bigger than him she was, despite how afraid of her he was, despite the fact that she was _his fucking soul_ , the words wouldn’t stop coming: “Monster is too small a word for what you are,” he said, venomous. God, he was just so _angry_.

Vashni sneered, sending him sideways so he had to grab one of the shining silver scales on her snout to stay upright. Then she started to laugh, great booming gales of laughter that sent him flying back against the far wall of the cave. He hit the wall in a crouch, pushing off and flash-stepping to a rocky outcropping close to Vashni’s blue, white and silver scaled face. 

Her laughter tapered off and she looked at Toshirou, cruelly amused. 

“You know you just called yourself a monster right?” She mocked. “I _am_ you.”

Toshirou clenched his teeth, resolutely looking away from her probing eyes. It was sickening, looking into those eyes—his own eyes—and knowing his own soul hated him so intensely, knowing he would never be able to bridge the cavern between them. At this point, he didn’t know if he even wanted to. Maybe they were better of separate.

“Face it,” said Vashni, slinking closer, each footstep seeming to shake the very foundations of the mountain. Dust rained down from the ceiling. “As much as you wish you had another daemon, you’re _stuck_ with me. Stuck with the monster. Stuck with _you_.” Vashni pinned him with a cruel, cold look, her eyes slitting and narrowing like a predator stalking prey. “We both killed him Toshirou.”

He froze, eyes flaring wide.

_No…_

“No.”

“Yes,” she hissed, eyes lighting up with fanatic fervour. “Come back when you can face up to what we did. If you come back before then, I’ll kill you,” she said, voice dark and deadly serious. 

Toshirou turned and fled. 

The whole way home, his hands shook, and no matter how many layers he wrapped himself in that night, he could not get warm.

\--

Aylie and Shagra lay at the foot of the futon, curled around one another like ying and yang. Shunsui watched them sleep, fingering the blunt edge of the cream and gold invitation restlessly. Tucked against his side, forehead pressed against his hip, Jushirou slept as peacefully as their daemons. Shunsui swept the hair obscuring his face behind his ear, and Jushirou-- long accustomed to Shunsui's brooding insomnia-- blinked up at him with hazy green eyes full of concern.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"I just have a bad feeling about all this," he admitted, honest as he was prone to be at this hour of the night, in this company. "My gut feels all wrong."

Jushirou hummed, nuzzling his hip, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Whatever happens we'll get though it together. We always do."

Gently, Jushirou reached up and took the invitation out of his hand, placing it on the bedside table without reading it. "Come to bed," he said, tucking his thigh between both of Shunsui's, moving up his body in a single, slow slide that pressed them together and made him ache. 

Shunsui rumbled, low and instinctive, taking Jushirou's earlobe between his teeth, panting into his ear as he started to move. 

\--

Later than night, Jushirou rose from bed and slipped on his pale blue robe. He checked to make sure Shunsui was asleep before he picked up the invitation he discarded earlier and read it twice over. Satisfied he knew the details, Jushirou stepped out onto the balcony and summoned a hell butterfly. It perched delicately on his finger and he whispered a message in its ear. 

Jushirou watched it disappear into the black of night. He sensed, more than heard, Shunsui come up behind him. Arms slipped around his waist and pulled him back against a firm naked chest.

"Alright?"

"Just needed some fresh air," Jushirou said, "It's easier to breathe out here."

Shunsui hummed and kissed his neck. A hand parted his robe and rubbed his chest in soothing circles. "I'm glad you're here," Shunsui said.

He didn't need to elaborate. He never did. There had been many instances in their long lives where Jushirou had come close to death, though perhaps none quite as close as the last. Jushirou would die for the Gotei, for soul society--but if he was granted a choice, he would live for Shunsui.

Jushirou turned in his arms and tilted Shunsui into a kiss that ached and lingered, swelled and ebbed like the tide. Shunsui sighed against his lips. "What would I do without you?" he murmured

"You keep saying that. Should I be worried?" Jushirou teased.

"I don't want you to worry about anything."

"We can't work miracles Shunsui," he said wryly, laughter in his eyes.

Shunsui smiled, a little sad, a little fond. "Still. I would keep you safe forever if I could."

Jushirou looked up at him, eyes dimming, growing serious. He placed his hands on either side of Shunsui's face. "You can't keep me forever Shunsui," he said, soft and regretful, "but I wish you could. I would keep you too."

Shunsui bent to kiss his forehead, and after a while, led Jushirou off to bed. Once Jushirou was asleep, Shunsui closed his eyes as well. 

Behind his eyes, he saw a little black butterly fluttering away in the darkness.


	2. Before the Trial - Day Two, Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Shunsui hummed. “At the very least, Aizen has an enemy… and you know what they say about enemies...”_   
>  _Shinji smiled, toothy and fierce. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, eh?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things be getting plotty this chapter. Ye have been warned.  
> Also, if anyone can spot the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy reference (It's blink and you'll miss it) I'll be pretty impressed.  
> Intro: Hirako Shinji and Urahara Kisuke-- with a bit of Renji and Hiyori thrown in for fun ;)

“Well well, this is a nice set up ya got here,” Hirako Shinji drawled, putting his feet up on the steel exam table he was seated in front of, fingers poking curiously at the jelly-like substance floating in an ice bath beside his head. “It’s real…cosy.”

The jelly moved and Shinji flinched back, startled, before looking around to make sure no one had seen. Luckily for him, it was a slow day in the weirdo division, and the only people in the lab were science freaks with time sensitive experiments—and Kisuke.

“I know!” Kisuke gushed, peering excitedly at an oddly shaped specimen tube bubbling away in front of a bank of computers. The tube was one and a half times Kisuke’s height and filled with some kind of viscous purple goo that glowed ominously. Not for the first time, Shinji was reminded that his good friend Kisuke was more than a little unbalanced. 

“It’s wonderful!” Kisuke sighed, gesturing to the division at large, looking overwhelmingly like a proud mother hen among her many chicks. He looked half a second away from swooning at his division member’s proficiency and skill. So, for that matter, did the creepy little lab-coat wearing geeks shadowing him. They’d been following their newly appointed division captain around all morning like they couldn’t quite believe he was real. Though, he supposed, after a century of working under that freaky sadist Kurotsuchi, Kisuke must seem like some kind of benevolent, kind-hearted, cane-toting superhero to the poor kids.

Shinji looked around Kisuke’s new digs doubtfully, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. It was all very Kisuke, that’s for sure. “Yeah…”

The two-story lab was filled with experiments ranging from weird and creepy to _super_ weird and creepy—all of which were hooked up to high-tech looking thingamajigs that Shinji guessed monitored the equipment and kept the 12th division from going up in smoke every time lightening hit the belltower. Personally, he thought the whole setup looked uncomfortably like a cross between Dr Frankenstein’s lab and an underground fetish dungeon, but who was he to judge? For all he knew, Kisuke and his new pals were into that. 

Shinji glanced around disinterestedly, doing his best to blend in among the weirdos. His captain’s haori looked enough like a lab coat that most of the technicians looked right passed him. Those that didn’t he sent scurrying away with a shark-toothed leer from him and Giselle. Giselle was undoubtedly the more frightening of the pair, but, well, Giselle was an Utahraptor, and being a head taller and a fuck tonne bigger and stronger than pretty much all shinigami, she tended to pull focus. Giselle hissed at a passing green-haired technician in a lab coat and he dropped his clipboard, stumbling back against a nearby bench, going white in the face. Shinji watched him trip over his own feet to get away and rolled his eyes. Che, some people were such wimps.

A freak with horns walked past him carrying a potted sapling that seemed to be growing fingers in place of branches, and Shinji scrunched up his nose. Giselle screeched to get his attention, and Shinji reached down to pat her head. She was getting antsy, cooped up under the table beneath his feet. She never liked being in one place too long, and now even less so. He didn’t blame her. This place was freaky deaky central. 

Kisuke immediately rushed over to the horned man, and the two got into an intense discussion about the freaky finger plant that he couldn’t keep up with—and frankly didn’t want to. Sometimes he forgot that Kisuke was as much a mad scientist as that freak Kurotsuchi. 

For his part, Kisuke flittered around his division like a happy little Disney bluebird, looking like he was going to burst into song at any moment. “Isn’t it beautiful? It’s even more advanced than when I left,” he gushed, moving around, adjusting nobs and dials behind Shinji’s head, grinning like a lunatic. Shinji watched him suspiciously. “Say what you will about Mayuri, but he is a truly gifted scientist,” Kisuke said approvingly, patting a specimen cage lovingly. The creature inside yowled and sputtered, spitting acid that rebounded off the barrier, making the creature screech in rage. Kisuke kept smiling.

Trying not to look weirded out, Shinji snorted and slouched further in his wheelie chair. Giselle hunkered down and shot Kisuke a poisonous look through slitted, grey, reptilian eyes. “A truly gifted nutjob maybe,” Shinji snorted. He picked his teeth with a scalpel by his elbow. Kisuke plucked it out of his hand a moment later. Shinji scowled. Kisuke continued to smile like an escaped mental patient. “I can’t believe you let that creep stay. I wouldn’t trust him to tie my shoes, let alone run a lab. He’s a convicted criminal twice over now. Just let him rot in the Maggots Nest like he oughta.”

“And let that mind go to waste?” Kisuke looked appalled. “No. He is of much greater use here. At least here he will be of some value to soul society, start repairing some of the damage he’s done.”

Shinji narrowed his eyes.

“He enslaved another captain, and his lieutenant.”

“Captain Hitsugaya was already a zombie,” Kisuke put in lightly.

Shinji scoffed. “Yeah right. He did something freaky to that poor kid, I can _smell_ it,” he groused, protectiveness creeping into his voice, despite his resolve to stop treating the tenth division captain like a kid. 

Kisuke hummed noncommittedly.

“He experimented on the dead and stole their rietsu to fuel his mad experiments.”

Kisuke shrugged, apparently unconcerned by the _fucking sociopathic_ breach of ethics. “They weren’t using it.” 

“He stood by and watched my friends die,” Shinji said flatly, looking away. “You should let him rot.”

Kisuke was silent for a moment. “I should,” he admitted, the smile wiping away for the first time, “but I can’t.”

Shinji slammed his fist down on the steel table, rattling glass, and startling Giselle into letting out an echoing screech that stopped several nearby lab technicians in their tracks. “I’ll never understand why ya keep protecting that man,” Shinji growled, “he’s a _monster_.”

For a few long moments, silence reigned. Then people picked themselves up again and got back to work. Only Shinji and Kisuke remained still amidst the bustle of technicians, caught in a frigid impasse. 

“Once,” Kisuke said mildly, the twitch of his fingers against the handle of his cane the only clue that he was at all affected by Shinji’s anger, “they would have said the same thing about you.”

Shinji’s jaw ticked. That was a damn dirty card to play and Kisuke knew it. “Shaddup,” he ordered sourly, forcibly banishing the century-old memories that wanted to resurface at the bastards words. “You dunno what you’re saying, comparing me ta that freak.” Shinji snorted. “As if.”

Kisuke hummed noncommittally, and some of the tension drained away. Shinji just barely caught sight of Delilah’s red hour glass creeping behind Kisuke’s ear. He imagined her eyes peering at him from behind Kisuke’s ridiculous hair—all eight of them—and shuddered.

Kisuke pulled up a chair and got comfortable in front a large computer with a frankly frightening number of keys, buttons, and multi-coloured nobs. “Some might say you and Mayuri share a sense of humour,” he said, tapping away. Shinji could have sworn the bastard was smirking, but the dim lighting made it hard to tell. “…among other things.”

“What other things?” Shinji demanded, before hissing lowly, dangerously, “What _people_.”

Kisuke merely smiled serenely, and didn’t comment, like Shinji’s words had proven his point precisely. 

\--

Shinji was just walking home, minding his own business, innocently checking out a couple of cute girls he just happened to be walking behind, when out of nowhere two midget feet came flying at his face and sent him hurtling through the gates of the eighth division.

“Pervert!” Hiyori bellowed, planting a single, deadly foot on his chest and glaring down at him with slitted eyes. 

Shinji spat out a mouthful of dirt and matched her glare. “The fuck ya talking about Hiyori?!” He yelled, rubbing at his sore face. He winced as he ran his fingers over his nose and they came away bloody. He prodded at his nose gingerly. Ouch. Yep, definitely broken. She hadn’t done that in a while. “Ya broke my nose, ya little midget bitch,” he groused, sneering.

“What did you call me?!”

“Ya heard me!”

“Get up so I can knock you down again you disgusting, baldy, pig, pervert, jerk!”

Shinji and Hiyori growled, foreheads pressed together, eyes blazing like hell fire—then a hand reached out, grabbed Hiyori by the back of her shihakushou and lifted her into the air. 

Abarai Renji— Captain of the 8th Division— glanced at Shinji and immediately raised an eyebrow. “Huh,” he said. Hiyori hung in her captain’s grip, hissing and spitting like a feral cat, but he hardly seemed to notice—or care. “You alright Captain Hirako?”

Shinji nodded, scratching the back of his neck, watching Hiyori thrash with an innate wariness born from long exposure to her, er, _charms_. “Ah, ya might wanna let her down. The longer ya do that, the longer she’s gonna make your life miserable later. Trust me.”

Renji shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “Eh, she don’t scare me. We Rukon brats are all the same when ya get right down to it. Ya fight it out, get a bit bloody, then you don't gotta deal with it no more. We’ll head down to training field one in a minute and beat the stuffing out of each other. That should sort it.”

Shinji shrugged. “ I guess you’d know better than me. Just be careful, she’s got a mean right hook and a foul mouth ta boot.”

“I can _hear_ you y’know! Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Hiyori bellowed, kicking her feet in the air. When she eventually realised she wasn’t going anywhere without her captain’s says so, she glared at Renji venomously. “I’m going to make you _bleed_.”

Renji looked unimpressed. “I’d like ta see ya try runt.”

Hiyori’s face turned red, and Renji smirked.

Shinji watched their two daemon’s face off: Hiyori’s russet-fox-daemon Eddy weaved in and out of Abarai’s black-bear-daemon’s legs, poking and prodding at her with his nose. The bear looked at the red blur, frowning, and looking completely, hilariously, unintimidated by the show of speed. Eventually the bear let out a grumble and pinned Eddy under one large paw. Eddy yipped and snapped and struggled, but couldn’t budge an inch—kind of like Hiyori. 

Shinji smirked at the two of them.

“Shut up baldy!” Hiyori hissed at him. “You’re _dead_ when I get a holda you!”

Shinji applied a quick healing kido to heal his nose, before snorting. “As if bitch,” he said coolly, before slouching away with a perfunctory over-the-shoulder wave to that punk Abarai. Hiyori howled in the distance along with her daemon. Shinji considered the idea that maybe Abarai would put Hiyori in her place for once—then he shook his head. Yeah, and maybe Shunsui will up and decide to stop torturing those poor lieutenants of his. Better yet, maybe he’ll stop wearing that ridiculous woman’s kimono—or stop drinking at the office. Shinji snorted. As if.

Speaking of Shunsui…

Shinji deliberated on the road ahead that led towards the first division, as well as his own division, before swinging around and heading back the way he came. He glanced at the horizon, the sun just peeking over the tops of the trees. If he wanted to find Shunsui this early, no doubt the man would be at Ugendo. 

\--

Sure enough when he turned up at Ugendo, he found Shunsui lounging by the garden-side koi pond, not even dressed. 

“Ya gonna get ready any time this century old man?” He hollered. Shunsui chuckled and raised his hand in a wave. Giselle bounded ahead of him, screeching and snapping her jaws above the koi pond, looking like she wanted to dip her snout in and go fishing. “Oi! You’re scaring away the fish,” he snapped at her. She hissed at him, and he scowled. Giselle was a motor mouth when you got her going, but until then, you’d have better luck talking to a potted plant.

“Ah, Elle-chan, how lovely it is to see your beautiful face,” Shunsui greeted the Utahraptor warmly.

Giselle hissed, feathered spines arching up and back in warning, displaying their many colours. Shinji rolled his eyes. She was such a charmer, his daemon.

“Say hello,” he grumbled moodily, slouching down next to Shunsui. She didn’t of course, even when the man lifted his hat and gave Giselle his most charming smile. Tellingly, Shagra remained coiled behind his back—her intent grey eyes narrowed and locked on Giselle. She’d never quite trusted Giselle not to hurt Shunsui. It was part of the reason why Shinji liked the lazy old man, besides the free sake; he was almost as much of a suspicious bastard as Shinji.

On Shunsui’s other side, Aylie sat back on her haunches, glancing between them with amused green eyes, looking just like her other half would watching the children squabble. Shunsui scratched behind her ears absently, and Shinji followed the movement with lazily hooded eyes. It still amazed him that the other man did that, just _touched_ someone else’s daemon like he was entitled. But then, things had always been a little different between him and Jushirou. There were no taboos between them, probably hadn’t been for centuries. Not for the first time, Shinji wondered what that might feel like—to trust someone so completely that touching their soul and having them touch yours was commonplace, an expected part of daily life—to love someone so deeply that their daemon became yours as much as your daemon became theirs. Giselle hadn’t let anyone touch her in decades, not since—

Shinji cut that train of thought off abruptly, forcing himself away from ugly, bitter thoughts for the second time that morning.

 _Must be the trial_ , he thought grouchily, brushing his asymmetrical fringe out of his eyes, _that bastard always did have a way of forcing himself where he don’t belong…_

Aylie huffed, and thumped Shunsui with her tail, jerking Shinji out of his maudlin thoughts.

“Leave the poor kid alone Shun,” Aylie said reproachfully, butting him in the shoulder with her head. Shunsui chuckled and held up his hands.

“Alright alright, who am I to resist the demands of a lovely lady?” he said sweetly, making Aylie duck her head with embarrassment and bashful pleasure. On his other side Shagra purred and curled her tail around Aylie’s, looking at her with affectionate grey eyes.

Shinji scowled at the three of them. Damn saps.

Shunsui caught the look and burst into booming laughter that echoed across the grounds, and shook a flock of multi-coloured parrots from their perches. He clapped Shinji on the back. “Don’t look so disapproving Shinji. You’ll understand when you fall in love.”

Shinji rolled his eyes. “I’ve been in love you jackass. Just wasn’t an idiot about it.”

Shunsui tucked his free-flowing hair behind his ear and tugged his robe closed as far as it would stretch across his chest—which wasn’t far. The colour and the size alone said he’d accidentally picked up one of Jushirou’s modest, winter-coloured robes this morning instead of one of his own gaudy floral affairs. The contented smile said he’d been too lazy to go back inside and change into something that fit, or at the very least, was somewhat decent. 

“Ah,” Shunsui piped up knowingly, “you’re always an idiot in love—whether you know it or not.”

Shinji grumbled, but didn’t deny it. He had been… just not in the way Shunsui was thinking. 

“Where’s Jushirou?” He asked, changing the subject.

Something dark came over the older Shinigami’s face then—there and gone so fast Shinji almost thought he was imagining it— but Shunsui just shrugged. “Said he had some stuff to take care of,” he said dismissively. Shinji went tense across the shoulders. Something didn’t smell right… “Sent Aylie and me to the dog house.”

Aylie’s ears flattened, and she pawed at the dirt guiltily. “Yeah, we’re in trouble,” she said sadly. 

Shinji grinned at the hang-dog expression on Shunsui’s face, deciding that whatever was happening between Shunsui and Jushirou, it probably wasn’t any of his business. “What’d ya do?” He crowed.

“Nothing,” Shunsui said defensively. Aylie whimpered. “Nothing _much_ ,” he corrected.

“We came up with a plan, a _stupid_ plan,” Aylie admitted guiltily. “We deserve it.”

Shunsui grabbed her by the scruff and shook a little like she was a misbehaving wolf pup, rather than the other half of his partner’s soul. Shinji couldn’t help but be instantly startled and appalled by the action, suddenly, abruptly nauseous—even if he knew better, knew it wasn’t like that between Jushirou and Shunsui. No one ever handled another person’s daemon like that. _Never_. It just wasn’t done. Except, apparently, between the two of them. Shinji huffed, swallowing down his nausea. He really wished he had it in him to be surprised by the two of them, but he really didn’t. At the very least, Aylie didn’t seem to be in pain. In fact, she didn’t seem to mind the rough handling at all. The arctic wolf had perked up quite a bit, and was now licking Shunsui’s face in delight. Shinji shook his head, and smiled, letting his nerves wind down, and his muscles relax. 

_Shunsui’s not like that bastard_ , Shinji reminded himself forcefully, _he’s not taking or forcing or controlling her. It’s different. It’s okay_.

“You okay Shinji?” Shunsui asked him. His eyes searched Shinji’s face, and too late Shinji realised his distress was showing. He wiped his face clean, but Shunsui had already seen. When he wanted to be, the man was like a dog with a bone. Or, Shinji reconsidered as he watched Shagra eye him along with her owner, a very curious cat. 

“Yeah,” he said, opting for the truth—if not the _whole_ truth. “Ya just reminded me of something is all. Giselle got grabbed like that a while back. Didn’t feel so hot y’know?”

Shunsui nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s different for Jushirou and I.” He was silent for a moment. “Sorry, sometime I forget that other people aren’t like us. I didn’t think.” 

Shinji waved him off. “Eh,” he dismissed. “Aint your fault. Just memories being memories, coming back just when ya thought you’d buried em good and deep.”

Shunsui hummed. “That I do understand.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, just soaking in the sun while Aylie and Giselle played in the water, chasing each other though the reeds. Giselle leapt on top of Aylie, tumbling them into the water. Aylie barked happily, and Giselle trilled in satisfaction when she got the other daemon pinned using her much larger build. Shinji could feel the warm hum of Giselle’s delight from here, and he grinned behind his hair. Aylie had the uncanny ability to get along with pretty much any daemon. Giselle adored her, and that was saying something since Giselle hated pretty much everyone. Well, hate was probably too strong a word. Distrusted, maybe. She was never at ease around other people—even people Shinji considered himself close to. It had caused some friction in the past, with the other visored especially. They didn’t understand how Shinji could still be wary and distrustful around them after so long fighting, living— _surviving_ together. Hiyori, especially, had never quite forgiven him for Giselle’s lukewarm attitude towards her. It didn’t seem to make a difference that Shinji could count on one hand the people that Giselle relaxed around, and one of them was _him_.

Shinji sighed. Giselle was him turned up to eleven—him behind the snark, the foul mouth, and the slouch. And the Shinji behind the curtain was not a pleasant person. He was selfish, he hurt people, he was callous, _mean_ , and a bit of a sociopath if he’s being completely honest—but above all else, he did not trust. Anyone. _Ever_. That was just the way he was, and the fact of the matter was that most people couldn’t handle that, couldn’t handle _him_ —the real him. There was a _reason_ Giselle only relaxed around certain people. There was a _reason_ Jushirou was one of them. 

Never, not once in their long acquaintance, had Jushirou ever looked at or treated Shinji with anything but acceptance. Shinji loved Shunsui, thought he was a stand-up guy and a great friend—but he didn’t trust him. There was never a moment in their acquaintance where Shunsui was not looking at him and assessing him: looking for tells, searching for information that might become pertinent at some stage or be useful as leverage. Shunsui was always building up his arsenal of secrets. Most of the time, Shinji was sure the other man didn’t even realise he was doing it. He’d been observing people and collecting their secrets for so long he probably didn’t even notice when he went digging into people’s personal lives 99 percent of the time. It was the one percent that Shinji took issue with, the deliberate deception that Shinji couldn’t forgive. He understood—of course he did, they all did. Shunsui was the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13. If anyone had the right to rifle through his subordinates personal lives, it was him, but it still made him wary. It still put him on edge, just a little, even now.

Jushirou however… Jushirou was very much the ‘your life, your business’ type of person. Shinji could relax around him, because he never pushed for more that Shinji was willing to give, and he never passed judgement. Oh, he judged certainly, but that was different. Everyone made judgements. The difference between Jushirou and most people was that Jushirou made a judgment, and then immediately considered other points of view, acknowledging that his judgment may not be the correct one—and deciding to remain open to other thoughts, ideas, and opinions. Jushirou was one of those rare people who never had a solid opinion about _anything_ , because he acknowledged that right or wrong, good or bad, was a matter of degrees—not a definitive yes or no judgement. The world was not black or white to him, like it was to most other people, like it was to Shinji. So, as much as he was able to trust anyone, Shinji trusted Jushirou. Not that that was saying much, given his trust issues—but still.

“I want to show you something,” Shinji said slowly, watching the other man’s reactions carefully, “and I want it kept between us.”

“Juu too?” He asked, hunching a little. Shagra stood abruptly and sat back on her haunches, watching Shinji with intense grey eyes that never missed a thing.

Shinji smirked, knocking their shoulders together companionable. “I said between us, didn’t I?” 

Shunsui slumped a little further. In contrast, Shagra sat up straighter, eyes narrowing, the air around her turning ever so slightly strained with tension.

Shinji rolled his eyes. “Of course ya idiot. Was gonna go see Jushirou later anyway. Ya should know why I say _you_ I mean the bothaya”

Shunsui relaxed and shot him a lazy grin. “Ah, Shinji, that’s a mean trick.”

Shinji snorted. “Yeah, yeah, get off it old man. Can’t believe ya fell for that. As if I’d tell ya anything I didn’t want Jushirou to hear. Ya think I’m some kinda idiot?”

Shunsui’s grin relaxed into a smile, turning warm and appreciative. Shinji shifted uncomfortably, and decided to move this along before things got too sappy. “The trial is in two days. I’m guessing ya got a summons too?”

Shunsui nodded, looking curious, but patient enough to keep from interrupting with his own recollections. 

Shinji let out a long breath. “Some old geezer came up to me the other day, after I got the summons, took me aside and gave me this.”

Shinji took the scroll out of his shihakushou. He’d gone to Kisuke this morning to have it put in something that would not only keep the ancient, fragile paper safe, but keep it from being detected under his robes. Shunsui raised his eyebrow at the box, noting the symbols running down the side of the seamless purple container. 

“That’s some powerful kido… _see-me-not_ , and _touch-me-not_ , if I’m not mistaken?”

Shinji nodded. “I don’t know who the guy is that gave it to me, just looked like any other old man to be honest. Nothing special about him. Thought it was just some nutjob trying to get one over on me, until I opened her up and saw this.”

Shinji deactivated the seals on the container, deliberately letting Shunsui note the sequence before carefully unrolling the paper. Shinji watched Shunsui’s eyes skim the paper, watched them stop and flare wide in shock. “Wait…is this?..It can’t be…”

Shinji nodded. “I know. Look at the date on the bottom though.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I _know_ ,” Shinji stressed. “You know what this means.”

They both sat in weighted silence for a moment.

“You think _he_ knows about this?” Shunsui asked curiously.

Shinji gave him a flat look. “Obviously. If the old geezer knows, _he_ knows. We have to assume he knows everything, because more than likely he does, and I’m _never_ underestimating that bastard again.” 

Shunsui nodded. “I agree. This is…troubling. He can’t honestly be thinking of using this as some kind of defence?” He asked incredulously.

“If he was, we'd have no way of knowing how he'd use it. That's kinda the point. Even if he wants to though, he can't. We’ve got the original copy. I checked, it’s legit.”

Shunsui’s eyebrows flew up. “Then whoever gave us this might be an ally…”

Shinji smiled grimly. “Don’t confuse an enemy of Aizen’s with an ally. They can still stab you in the back.” Shinji thought of his smirking little third seat, that snake in the grass whose final venomous strike came as a complete surprise to everyone except the one person that counted. He felt a pang of regret for Gin. The kid had potential, and in the end he was used by Aizen as a means to an end, just like everyone else. Shinji’s hands clenched in his shihakushou. He made up his mind then and there to never let Aizen, or his lackeys waiting in the wings, get their hands on this scroll. 

“True, but the only reason someone would give this scroll to you is to keep it from Aizen.” Shunsui stroked his chin thoughtfully, grey eyes focused on the middle-distance. “If you think about it, apart from little Momo, and Hitsugaya, you’re the one most people think of when they think of people Aizen betrayed—and of the three of you, you’re probably the one with the best chance of keeping it safe. If someone wanted to keep something from Aizen, they’d have to give it to someone they could be sure would never help him under any circumstance. To me, well, you and Hitsugaya are the only real options if someone wanted to be sure they wouldn’t be playing into Aizen’s hands. The rest of us… our motivations are too unpredictable.” 

Shinji stared at the scroll held between them, considering, and nodded slowly. “Yeah, I see it.” 

“At the very least, like you said, Aizen has an enemy… and you know what they say about enemies...”

Shinji smiled, toothy and fierce. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, eh?”

Shunsui nodded. “We need to find this old man.”

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to Jushirou about…”

\--

Jushirou ushered the two of them into his office, Giselle and Aylie following fast on their heels, roughhousing like a couple of kids. Shagra slinked in after them, yawning, watching them play with hooded, amused eyes.

Shunsui locked eyes with Jushirou, and the other man froze, looking quickly between the two of them, before making an obscure hand gesture. Shunsui responded with his own gesture, and Jushirou nodded, some silent communication passing between them. In tandem, they crossed to one end of the office each and performed a barrier kido Shinji had only seen performed by one other person. His breath caught when he recognised it as Hachi’s _Hachigyo Sougai_. It wiped whatever was enclosed inside the barrier from existence so completely that, until the barrier was undone, no one would even remember the 13th division had an office for the three of them to be conversing in. Something about those hand signals must have tipped Jushirou off how serious this conversation was going to be, how important it was that they were not overheard.

Giselle fell in beside Shinji, resting her head on top of his hair like a hat, making a scratchy sound that he knew meant she was trying to be comforting. He couldn’t help but grin at her, “Silly girl,” he muttered. “Ya just gotta talk ta me. At least say hi to Jushirou.”

The white haired man was watching them, amusement swimming in his bright green eyes. Aylie was curled up around his feet, head resting on her paws, watching them in much the same way. Jushirou smiled at Giselle, nodding once in warm acknowledgment, inviting her to talk at the same time as he allowed her to respond non-verbally if she wished. That kind of shit? This right here? This was why he liked Ukitake Jushirou. 

“Hi Jushirou-sama,” Giselle said quietly, ducking her head. “Sorry in advance for this idiot.” She jerked her head at Shinji, and Shinji scowled.

“Hey!” Shinji groused. “Watch who you’re talking to!”

Giselle gave him a _look_ , and glanced back at Jushirou. “See what I mean?”

Jushirou chuckled, and jumped in before Shinji could retort. “It’s good to see you Giselle, and you can of course call me Jushirou,” the man darted a quick look at Shinji that spoke volumes, and Shinji felt himself redden, just a little, out of embarrassment. It didn’t take a genius to realise that the reason Giselle was so formal with Jushirou was because, underneath it all, Shinji admired the man quite a bit more than he let on. In fact, after he graduated from the academy he might have hero worshipped the man—just a little. He could look at the man now as a friend and an equal, but sometimes the other captain would do something, or say something, or _look_ at him in some way that reminded him exactly why he used to worship the ground the man walked on. It was _mortifying_.

Shinji grunted and jerked his head at Giselle. “Ya hear that? Call him Jushirou. He don’t like sama, ya know that.”

Jushirou shook his head, looking momentarily frazzled. “Oh no! Please! I don’t mind. If she wants to call me sama—if she’d more _comfortable_ calling me sama—then the last thing I want to do is make her call me something else.” He smiled and addressed Giselle. “Whatever you like is fine. I just wanted to let you know you’re allowed, if you wish, to call me something less formal.” Jushirou smiled and scratched the back of his head, laughing lightly.

Giselle stared at him, abnormally wide-eyed, pretty much doing the dinosaur equivalent of swooning. Shinji glared at her, and sunk a little deeper into his arm chair. Shunsui looked between the two of them like he wished he had a bucket of popcorn to go with the show.

“Shaddup,” Shinji growled at the man, who only grinned back lecherously.

 _Fuckin perv…_

More than likely sensing Shinji’s discomfort, Jushirou moved things along. “What was it the two of you wanted to speak with me about? I’m guessing it has something to do with the summons we received yesterday.”

“I got a bad feeling in my gut that says that bastards plotting again,” Shinji said, looking Jushirou in the eyes. “It don’t smell right, _none_ of it.

Jushirou frowned. “I believe I’m missing some details. I doubt you’d come to me about Aizen with only your gut instinct Shinji.”

Shinji leaned forward in his armchair, and told him what he’d told Shunsui in the Ugendo garden. Jushirou listened intently, a light furrow between his brows that only intensified after he pulled out the scroll. Jushirou read the contents of the scroll and his mouth pursed. He looked out the window, eyes very far away. 

“Jushirou?” Shunsui asked, concerned.

Jushirou didn’t look at him. His hands clenched in his shihakushou.

“I think I may know where your informant got this document,” he said, voice deathly quiet, eyes dark and… _angry_. It was such a rare expression on the happy-go-lucky captain that it took a moment for Shinji to get over his shock.

Jushirou looked between the two of them, studying them both carefully. Then, he got up and moved behind his desk, taking out a small, ornate knife from inside his desk draw. “Before I do this, I need you both to swear on your life that you will never breathe a word of what you are about to see.”

Shinji glances at Shunsui, but the other captain looks just as lost as he does.

_A secret of Jushirou’s that even Shunsui don’t know? Must be serious…_

Shinji swallowed and nodded along with Shunsui.

Jushirou blew out a frustrated breath, his movements jerky. Shunsui watched him worriedly. 

“I need a verbal response. A vow. Nothing less than a promise on your life will do. If you can’t give me that you have to leave.”

Shunsui reeled backwards like he’d been slapped, and honestly, Shinji didn’t feel much better. What secret was so big that they had to make a death vow just to be privy to it? Jushirou was not a secretive man. He only moved in the shadows when he believed he had no other recourse. Whatever this was, it was very deadly serious. Nothing else would warrant this degree of deception and secrecy from the honest captain. 

“On my life, I will not reveal what I am shown today to any other soul, nor speak of it, nor make any indication that I have ever had knowledge of its existence,” Shunsui spoke gravely, hand over his heart. Jushirou looked at Shunsui—and their eyes met. 

It was like being punched in the chest.

Suddenly, it felt like all the air got sucked out of the room, the sheer force of their connection weighed him down like a powerful rietsu, made him want to fall to his knees, and his breath stick in his lungs. Shinji stared at the ground, eyes wide and unseeing. It all made sense now. _This_ , was what it felt like to have a true connection, a _soul_ connection. He was wrong before. They weren’t _defying_ taboos by touching each other’s daemons, they weren’t breaking them down—they broke no taboos, because no taboos _applied_ to them. They were on another level. One of those couples you only hear about in songs and legends, who meet over and over again in different lives, who are destined to love and lose one another for eternity. Two halves of a fallen star meeting and becoming whole again. Not soul mates, no, but as close as humans and shinigami will ever get. As close as it is possible to get—that one true connection that transcends all others. They are not one soul split, but rather two souls who have been bound together since the dawn of time; two souls, incomplete apart, destined to be together in every life and afterlife until the end of time. Shinji never thought he’d see one with his own eyes. Watching them now, he can’t believe he was ever so _blind_. It was obvious wasn’t it? The way Shunsui neglected even the most serious of duties to be with Jushirou when he was sick; the way Jushirou was eternally understanding of Shunsui’s flirtations and little crushes, even amused by them when others would have been driven mad with jealously; the way they looked at one another like they saw the universe in each other’s eyes, like they could never witness anything more amazing than each other. It was perfectly, completely, utterly, _stupidly_ obvious—and somehow he and the rest of the world had missed it anyway. 

“You,” Shinji gasped out, trying to find his voice. A hand gripped his shoulder. Shunsui looked down on him apologetically, and the weight lifted from his shoulders until he could breathe again. 

“Sorry,” Shunsui murmured, “we didn’t realise it would be like that for other people.”

Jushirou came over and they both helped Shinji into his armchair. Giselle bustled around him nervously, butting her head against his hair. He reached up and patted her flank, resting his head against her feathered sides. 

Jushirou looked at him, white in the face, and looking like he was about to burst and mother him within an inch of his life if he didn’t say something. Shinji grinned at the other man. “I’m good,” he promised. “Don’t worry. Just… adjusting. Man, how do ya handle something that intense? Ma head’s _still_ spinning.”

“Like I said, we didn’t know it would be like that,” Shunsui said, crouching beside him and resting on the arm of the chair, one arm folded over the other. 

“We’ve never connected with anyone in the room before,” Jushirou admitted, still looking a little pale with worry. “It’s hard to control when you’re experiencing heightened emotion. It was an accident. I apologise.” Shinji wanted to tell the other man he was fine, but thought it might be a little too soon to make that assessment. The room was still spinning, and he was feeling more than a little sick himself. The white-haired division captain could sniff out lies like a blood hound; it would do him no good to say he’s fine when he’s not. 

“You haven’t?” Shinji asked instead. That _was_ surprising.

Jushirou looked a little sheepish. “I’m…well, a pretty private person. Shunsui would be shouting it from the rooftops if he could, but he knows I’m not comfortable with everyone knowing. I’m already pretty well known as the sickly captain, I’d rather not be one half of the ‘soul mate’ couple too— or whatever they’re calling it these days.”

Shinji nodded. “Yeah, I got ya. Seriously though, _no one_ knows?”

Ukitake smiled sadly. “Kaien did. He and Miyako were like us. It was part of the reason he acted the way he did after she disappeared. It’s…” Jushirou whitened considerably as he considered his next words, “ _devastating_ losing your other half.” He looked away, and Shunsui watched him with stormy grey eyes that said that the other man was speaking from experience—that they both were.

Shinji swallowed, knowing that could only mean one thing. “You remember your other lives?”

Jushirou turned away. Shinji felt a flush of guilt, like maybe he’d overstepped, and was about to apologise when Shunsui caught his wrist. 

He met Shinji’s eyes meaningfully. “Just because we’re connected, doesn’t mean out lifetimes have always been happy. Some of them… have been less than ideal.”

 _Less than ideal_ , he thought numbly, _what a loaded phrase…_

“I still need you to swear,” Jushirou spoke quietly after a moment.

Shinji cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure, ah, right, just let me…” he trailed off, unsure how to say that he still needed a minute to process it all, even thought _they_ were the ones who got the pointy end of the stick, so to speak. 

Fortunately, Aylie butted her head against Jushirou’s leg and shook her head, some unspoken communication passing between them. Jushirou took a deep breath, and let it out, seeming to gather himself a little better.

“Sorry Shinji,” he said, quiet but sincere. He looked over his shoulder, smiling wanly. “Take as long as you need. I’m going to make us some tea.” 

Shunsui watched Jushirou walk into the adjoining room. After a moments consideration, he followed, closing the sliding door behind them to give Shinji some privacy. 

The moment they were gone, Shinji put his head in his hands and let himself freak out a little, because that was….that was _intense_. No. Actually, that was so far _beyond_ intense, it was in another _stratosphere_. The sheer force of their connection was like being thrown around by an invisible storm you couldn’t anticipate or defend against. It was like being hollowed out, and stuffed full of empty air. The strength of their connection had stifled him, snuffed him out like a candle-flame. He’d felt isolated, _alone_ , for the first time in centuries— like he was cut off from the earth, falling blindly through the vast emptiness of space with nothing to grasp onto and no one to hear him scream.

Worse than that though, so much worse than that, was the cord he could now feel weighing him down. He could still see it if he looked. He could see it there: thick, golden, _strong_ , but broken—severed like someone had taken an axe to it and cleaved right through. He reached a shaking hand up and touched the stump. He gasped, shocked into letting out a sob. It was like an amputated limb. The pain was unbearable, but instead of a physical pain, it was an emotional one. It was grief, anguish, pain, sadness—it was _ache_ sharpened to a knife point, impaled through his chest for everyone to see, if only they had the ability. He wondered, briefly, how long Shunsui and Jushirou had been able to see his broken connection, how long they’d _known_ about this and hadn’t said anything.

Shinji clenched his teeth and hands, wishing with all his heart that the frayed, broken, _brilliant_ , rope would just fade away, stop _aching_ like a fresh wound— but suspecting, in his heart of hearts, that it never would.

\--

Once they’d drunk their tea, and had a few restoring biscuits each to settle their stomachs, Shinji buried his grief, and said his death vow.

Jushirou surveyed him carefully, looking very much like he wanted to apologise for something desperately. He was also, very deliberately, not looking at Shinji’s chest. Shinji couldn’t help but think back on all the times Jushirou had avoided looking at his chest, and found, to his surprise, that there were quite a few. Things he didn’t think meant anything at the time, but upon reflection, meant a hell of a lot more. Despite the fact that he _knew_ why the white-haired man hadn’t told him about the cut cord, despite the fact that he would have taken it as an invasion of his privacy at the time, he still felt his regard for his former hero fracture a little, and lose some of its lustre. 

Jushirou led him and Shunsui over to the bookcase by the window and opened up an obscure little book on horticulture, specifically: _Proper Care and Maintenance of your Gardening Kit_ , by Piper Aldridge. Shinji raised an eyebrow at the title, and raised both when Jushirou opened the book to the forty-sixth page and he was almost blown backwards by the strength of the seals laid into the biding of the book, and on closer inspection, unseen on the page itself. Jushirou placed his palm over the page, and yellow light spilled from the book, enveloping his hand, humming like a living, breathing force.

At his and Shunsui’s stunned expressions, Jushirou smiled. “My grandmother was one of the first kido practitioners. She was a master in her field, with a hidden knack for seals. Her seals are impenetrable, and very deadly when provoked. 

“You’re talking like they’re alive,” Shinji said, huffing a breathless laugh. 

Jushirou smiled slightly, eyes dancing. “They are.” Jushirou laughed at their comically startled expressions. “Living seals, they were my grandmother’s specialty. Adaptable to change, only growing stronger with age. Their only weakness is that they need to be renewed every hundred years or so, so you can’t bury or hide a precious object somewhere unreachable and expect the seals to last indefinitely.”

“ _These_ seals,” Jushirou continued, sounding fond, “are very special. They are keyed to my family’s genetic code. Only one of my bloodline can open this book, and only someone who can open this book will ever live to tell of their attempt to uncover its secrets.”

The seals finished scanning Jushirou’s rietsu, and the light bled away. All at once, the pages seemed to melt away, like the seals were the only thing keeping the book tangible. The book continued to fall away until Jushirou was left standing with a small, innocuous looking bronze key in his hand. The key was _covered_ in seals like Shinji had never seen before—tiny, and almost too many to count. As Jushirou moved, the key passed too close to his skin, and he could feel the magic pulsing off the key like a living thing, like a warning. No one would be able to touch that key but Jushirou, and live to tell about it.

Shinji and Shunsui followed Jushirou to the traditional clay tea set that sat in an unused corner of the office. Shinji remembered the other captain saying once that he only used the set for tea ceremonies with the former soutaichou when the occasion arose. Shinji had no idea what Jushirou wanted with the tea set, but he really doubted Jushirou was in the mood for a tea ceremony.

Jushirou knelt down in front of the tea set, and… _dropped the key into the clay teapot_.

Giselle screeched in confusion, and Shinji frowned. Standing next to him, Shunsui was oddly still, watching Jushirou and the tea set with an intent gaze. Jushirou sat folded into a perfect seiza, seemingly content to wait- like the man _hadn’t_ just dropped a very important key into a teapot instead of, oh, finding a _lock_ maybe? A chest, a door, a _something_ that made even the slightest bit of sense? Honestly, this day just kept getting weirder and weirder...

Shagra prowled forward and sat next to Jushirou, purring inquisitively. Jushirou smiled and wove his hand through the panther’s silky black coat. “Just wait,” he said serenely. Shagra butted up against his other hand, and Jushirou chuckled, scratching between her eyes obligingly.

Aylie was still curled up on an armchair, watching them all calmly from her perch. Giselle wandered off to sit next to her, her feathered scales shifting uneasily. 

Then, just as he was beginning to think nothing was going to happen, the same yellow light that bled from the book began to permeate the room, glowing brighter and brighter until it obscured his vision entirely. When it cleared again, instead of a tea set, in front of Jushirou there was a decent sized trapdoor set into the floor. 

Shinji sensed Shunsui perk up. “A secret trapdoor?” He asked, almost breathless with wonder and excitement. He sounded like a little kid. Shinji smirked. “How could you have _kept_ this from me? You _know_ how I feel about pirates.” He said accusingly, hand over heart, faux-betrayed. A silly smile teased at his lips.

Jushirou shook his head in amusement at his partner, a smile breaking over his face like he just couldn’t help it when faced with Shunsui’s evident enthusiasm. “Follow me,” he said, shaking his head fondly, tangling their fingers together when the other man got close enough. They didn't let go. Shinji tried not to think about the ache in his chest, the cut cord he could still feel despite his best efforts to ignore it, heated and pulsing like an open wound that had been festering too long. Most of all, he tried not to think about what it meant.

He and Shunsui followed Jushirou down into the dark. Instead of wood like he expected, the interior was made of stone, from the stairs under his feet that descended down endlessly, to the wall by his head, and the stone gargoyles that held reishi lamps that lit up with yellow light whenever he passed. Eventually, the three of them made it to the bottom of the stairs. The moment they hit the landing, the whole room lit up with warm yellow light. Looking down, Shinji noticed their reishi was being funnelled from them in small amounts to fuel the lamps, and that a lot of the seals etched into the walls and floor were similar in style and composition to the ones Jushirou’s grandmother had created. He was so caught up studying the way his reishi flowed into the floor and made the stone look like gold bars that Shunsui had to grab his chin and jerk his head up to force him to look at what had captured the pink-clad man’s attention so completely. 

Shinji, utterly unprepared for the sight that met him, could only gape. 

“Wow,” Shunsui said dully, his verbosity deserting him as completely as, apparently, Shinji’s ability to speak. 

The whole room was stacked, wall-to-wall, back-to-front, with scrolls just like the one the old man had handed him yesterday. Rows and rows of them seemed to continue on forever, heading far into the yellow-drenched distance. When he looked up, all he could see were scrolls, stretching up and up until the light died. Shinji swallowed, inexplicably overwhelmed by the sheer _magnitude_ of vitally important— _confidential_ —scrolls Ukitake had in his possession. 

“What _is_ this Jushirou?” he managed finally, turning to face the senior captain. “Why is this all _here_?”

“That,” Jushirou said, with a tired smile, “is a _very_ long story.”

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFFHANGER!  
> I know, aren't I fun?  
> Hang on to that ledge nice and tight now...


	3. Before the Trial - Day Two, Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Yeah. So?” Hirako turned around and all Hitsugaya could see of him were the tense, bunching muscles of his back. “Bastard’s plotting again, so what? What the fuck else is new? Doesn’t help us now does it? What’s gonna help us is makin sure Sousuke don’t ever get his damn dirty hands on that scroll.”_

Hinamori Momo frowned.

“So… you _don’t_ know where Captain Hirako is?”

The flustered looking squad-leader nodded jerkily.

“Sorry lieutenant! We thought he was with you!” 

Standing a few steps behind her, her squad mates nodded as well.

Momo heaved a quiet sigh, brushing her side-fringe out of her eyes. She’d already heard the same thing from three other officers in other fifth division border-guard squads, but there was no harm in making sure.

“Thank you for your time, you’re all dismissed.”

The young officer nodded and she and her squad hurried back to their posts, disappearing through the garden.

Momo leaned forward against the railing of the fifth division headquarters, the breeze catching her short, wispy hair. She leaned her head on one hand and frowned into the distance. 

Something was wrong with Captain Hirako, but when she’d asked him about it this morning he’d told her she _“shouldn’t worry about hip young men like me”_ , and that she should focus on _“charming that handsome young man a yours”_ — complete with a ridiculous eyebrow waggle and hyena grin. She’d blushed when told her that, protesting that she and Toshirou were just friends, but his grin had only gotten wider—and more lascivious. The whole exchange had flustered her so badly that she’d had to leave the office, forcing her to abandon her line of questioning entirely, which, now that she thought about it, was probably intentional. Her captain was a crafty, crafty man. By the time she’d gotten over her embarrassment and found the courage to slink back into the office, he was already gone. 

Five hours had passed since then and she had yet to see any sign of her wayward captain. She’d already checked all of his usual haunts—their barracks roof, the second divisions private bath house, the empty 4th division birthing suites, that creepy lake behind the eleventh division barracks that she was half convinced was full of dead bodies, the Sour Monkey, the Rotten Apple, the Fork in the Road, the Pot and Stop Teahouse, Captain Komamura’s house, Captain Ukitake’s garden, Captain-Commander Kyouraku’s office— but he was nowhere to be found. 

Momo pressed her lips together, a deep crease forming between her eyes. She knew it was silly to worry about her captain. He was strong, and capable, and smart enough to outwit their enemies and end battles without even drawing his sword. Any trouble he got himself into he could probably take care of without her help. Still, she couldn’t help but worry about him. As much as he didn’t need her to look out for him, it was still her duty as his lieutenant to make sure he felt like he fit in here at the fifth division. The last thing she wanted was for him to get tired of them and leave, go back to the human world for good this time.

Despite his lackadaisical attitude, Captain Hirako was a great division leader who cared deeply about his subordinates and the division as a whole. He was proud of them. He’d never say as much, but it showed in the way he always made time to personally run them through drills during training, the way he always kept his office door open to encourage division members—from the greenest academy recruits to Momo herself— to ask questions. Many of the officers looked up to him, and those that didn’t still respected him as an accomplished, battle-tested shinigami with a lot to offer their division in terms of age and experience. In the short time he’d been their leader, Captain Hirako had turned their struggling division around. Already, in the two short years since he’d been made their captain, they were tripling their efficiency rating, as well as _doubling_ their mission execution rating, which was pretty much unheard of in a strategic support squad like theirs. Quite simply, the captain leaving was not an option. The way he was wondering off lately, making excuses to be out of the office and shirk his work, made her nervous. The fifth division couldn’t afford to lose him and (she could admit this to herself) _she_ didn’t want to lose him either, for reasons that had nothing to do with efficiency.

Ravi padded up next to her, laying his head on her feet. She folded down beside him with a smile, scratching that place behind his ears that made her daemon melt into a puddle of doggy bliss. Ravi was a Shetland Sheepdog, and she had always been proud of him. She knew what people said about dog daemons. She knew people looked at her and saw a follower in place of a leader: blindly loyal, eager to please, weak-willed, _soft_ — but none of that mattered. Momo knew who she was now. It had taken her a while after Capt… after _Aizen’s_ betrayal to see that he hadn’t broken her when he’d stabbed her through the chest— _twice_ (because it might have been Toshirou’s blade, but it was Aizen pulling the strings), to understand that Aizen couldn’t take anything from her that she wasn’t willing to give: not her pride, not her self-respect, not her strength, not her sense of duty or her dedication to the Gotei. _Nothing_. It wasn’t his to take. It was hers and hers alone. She knew that now. She felt it, and it would take more than snide whispers from people she didn’t know or care about to make her forget the hard truths she’d had to learn these past three years. This, she felt, was a lesson her captain had to learn the hard way too. 

She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to look at Aizen, to see through his deception and lies, and still fall victim to the man. At least she had the excuse of being ignorant of the traitor’s true nature to soften the blow, ease the blame from those around her. Captain Hirako had known what Aizen really was and had still paid: with his life, with his freedom, with his _humanity_. 

Momo shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. 

Hollowfication…what a monstrous mutation. It must have been unbearable to experience. Captain Hirako used it now: was stronger, faster, more durable because of it, but Momo didn’t fool herself into thinking that it was always that easy. She knew better than anyone the kind of games having your whole world reshaped in an instant could play on your mind, never mind having your body changed as well, warped and transmuted beyond even self-recognition. When she thought about it, considered how she might have felt in his place, she could only imagine being horrified, sickened, devastated. The very thought of it made her nauseous. She couldn’t imagine how much worse it must have been to actually experience. 

A light breeze fanned her cheek, just a touch too cold to be natural, and as usual she registered his presence just a touch too late to not be caught off guard.

“Hey Momo.”

Momo jumped, slapping a hand over her heart, turning to stare at her friend, wide-eyed and startled. 

“Shiro you _scared_ me.” 

She put her hands on her hips, tilting her head up slightly to look at him—because she had to do that now, because he was _taller_ than her now— and scowled softly. 

“Why do you have to do that?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, otherwise blank-faced. “Why do you have to call me Shiro?”

“Because I’ve _always_ called you Shiro. It would feel weird to call you anything else.”

She scrunched up her nose, imagining it. She could call him Toshirou in her head easily enough, but saying it out loud would just seem strange… and a little embarrassing? She didn’t know _why_ it would be embarrassing to call him by his full name, just that she knew it would be. She’s not sure she would be able to look at him afterwards. It would feel too formal—yet strangely intimate at the same time, to call him by his given name. It was stupid, really, when she thought about it. By all rights, they were old enough now that she should be able to call him by his name without feeling weird about it. Toshirou was her oldest friend. If there was anyone it was okay to feel intimate with, it was him. Toshirou was good. Toshirou was _safe_. He’d never hurt her.

Toshirou rolled his eyes at her, mouth twisting into a scowl that reminded her so forcefully of his younger self that she just had to giggle. He was such a cute kid. Pity he’d had to grow up. 

“What’re you laughing at,” he asked gruffly, voice deep and rough like a man’s.

She floundered internally for a moment, startled by the association. Inexplicably, she could feel her ears turning red.

“Nothing!” She said quickly, scratching the back of her head, laughing to hide her blush.

Toshirou looked at her doubtfully. “Right…”

Ravi came up and sniffed around Hitsugaya’s feet, barking happily at the white-haired captain. Hitsugaya smiled when Ravi touched the tip of his nose to the captain’s leg before bounding off again to chase butterflies in the garden. 

Momo cleared her throat and tried not to feel embarrassed. Ravi was a friendly daemon, but he was notoriously, _inappropriately_ , friendly with Toshirou. He always had been. It was, for lack of a better phrase, unbelievably mortifying. 

Sure enough, Hitsugaya looked at her teasingly, a strange light dancing in his eyes that made her flush a deeper, richer red. 

“So Ravi looks good,” he said eventually, taking pity on her after a few awkward moments of her standing there red and squirming, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Yeah,” she said, practically leaping at the opportunity to move on from her embarrassment. “He’s happy.”

Hitsugaya looked at her, long and searching. “Good,” he said finally, apparently satisfied with the answer. 

He stood with her side-by-side on the balcony, seemingly content to just remain in silence for a while. Momo, as she always had, followed her old friends lead gladly. Tension she didn’t even know she was holding fell away and her shoulders relaxed. She let out a long breath and smiled, just a little, when Toshirou pressed their arms together on top on the railing.

They stood in silence for a few more minutes watching Ravi play in the garden. She wanted to ask, like she always wanted to ask, where Toshirou’s daemon was. Momo hadn’t seen Vashni since they were both very young. Momo had always assumed, like everyone else, that Vashni had settled as something very small and easily hidden not long after Momo left for the academy. But privately the idea had always confused her. Vashni had, when she’d known her, favoured large reptiles and predatory birds. To be honest, Toshirou was never the type of person Momo thought would have a small daemon. 

Momo frowned thoughtfully.

Small in stature he might have always been, but there was never anything small about Toshirou’s spirit. He was not a personality that was easily hidden or repressed. He was a presence akin to a natural disaster, like a hurricane or a tidal wave: powerful, primal, and utterly engaging. The type of person you couldn’t help but pay attention to, even when he scared you a little. Everything about her old friend stood out—from his white hair, to his strangely beautiful eyes, to the way he moved and stood and commanded respect with a single cool look. Even his rietsu carried an unthinking chill wherever he went, announcing his presence like Captain-Commander Kyouraku’s rose petals, or Captain Zaraki’s bells. Momo never imagined Vashni would present as anything less than the perfect exhibition of her friends attention-grabbing presence. 

The thought snuck up on her, like it always did, that Vashni had always liked Momo even when Toshirou was sour towards her, and Momo couldn’t believe that Vashni wouldn’t have poked her head out to say hello at some point if she was anywhere on or near Toshirou’s person. It just didn’t seem realistic that Vashni would have stopped caring about her after Momo left for the academy—or gotten shy like Toshirou had said the one time Momo had plucked up the courage to ask. 

Momo frowned to herself, watching Ravi roll in the grass. 

She’d find out what happened to Vashni, because as much as she wanted to believe that Vashni was a beetle hiding behind Toshirou’s ear, or a spider creeping under his clothes, she just couldn’t. She just didn’t believe it. Her friend wasn’t a spider or a beetle; he was something bigger, grander, more special. Toshirou was unique, and Momo would rather think something bad had happened to Vashni than believe that Vashni would have settled as something small and diminishing of her best friend. 

Toshirou bent closer, brushing their shoulders together, strands of his fine white hair skimming her cheek. He smiled at her, a little lopsided, and remarkably easy on his often-serious face. 

Momo swallowed, suddenly thick in the throat. 

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked.

Focused on trying to tamp down another blush, Momo could only nod. 

\--

Toshirou hated this part of lower Serentei. Shinigami hardly ever came here since it was a residential district populated by mostly lower-class noble families. He and Momo stuck out like sore thumbs as they strolled through the streets in search of a place to eat. The roads were narrow here, just wide enough for a few merchants carts to mount the curb without impeding the foot traffic. The streets were overstuffed with small eclectic stores and cafes, slotted tightly together so that no place was bigger than his office back at the tenth division. It was stifling, and too loud, and overpriced— but Momo adored it. Momo loved the smells of cooking meet, the laughing people all packed in together, the young families that wondered around, smiling, aimless. 

Toshirou let her lead them around, and eventually Momo tugged him towards one of the more modest looking restaurants on the river. They were seated on a balcony overlooking the water. The other side of the river was residential manor homes with docks, so every few minutes or so Momo’s attention would be riveted by the boats floating past, her gaze softening as she watched a young father teach his daughter to fish, or a husband and wife drift lazily along with the tide, curled up together at the bottom of a row boat.

Toshirou watched her as she watched the water and thought, not for the first time, that she was beautiful.

Momo caught him staring and looked back inquisitively.

He shook his head, and she smiled bemusedly, eyes drifting back towards the water a moment later.

One day he’d tell her she was beautiful, but not today. Not until he could be sure he could keep her safe. What good was loving someone if you couldn’t protect them? His mind drifted back to thoughts of Aizen’s betrayal and he clenched his jaw against the pulse of instinctive fury the other man brought out in him. It was an ugly thing, his anger. It was poisonous. Every moment he let it darken his thoughts and dampen his mood were moments he could have spent staring at the river with Momo, or even just looking at her, smiling with her as they sat in perfect silence. Instead, he could already feel his mood falling, the warm, easy atmosphere slipping through his fingers like coarse sand. 

Sure enough, Momo looked at him with a frown. “Shiro? You okay? You look worried.”

Toshirou shook his head. “It’s nothing Momo. Let’s just order.”

Momo’s frown only worsened. “I can tell when you lie y’know,” she said quietly.

Toshirou clenched his jaw. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just go back to ignoring me please Momo?” He said, too harsh by half. 

Momo blinked at him, startled by his biting tone, and swallowed. 

Toshirou sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “Sorry,” he apologised. He wanted to explain, wanted to erase the worry from within her big brown eyes, but couldn’t. What was he supposed to say? _Hey Momo, I was just thinking about your murdering traitor of an ex-captain and he makes me more than a little furious, because, y’know, he stabbed me, stabbed you, had me stab you, and his trial is in two days so I’m pretty wound up about it, not that I can talk to you about it, because as wound up as I am you have to be ten times worse, and there is no way in hell I’m burdening you with more than I need to ever again, I’ve hurt you enough already._

“Whatever it is, I can help,” she said earnestly.

The worst part was he didn’t doubt it in the least. Momo had always been good at calming him down and making him see reason when reason was the _last_ thing he wanted to acknowledge. But she couldn’t help him with this, she just couldn’t. He refused to subject her to any more of his angst about Aizen. The man didn’t deserve to take up any more space in her life, even if it was just her mind. That bastard had played with _that_ enough too. 

“I don’t want your help.”

Momo flinched, and too late he heard how cruel that must have sounded. Momo deflated like a popped balloon, face lengthening, eyes growing quiet. Hitsugaya clenched his fists under the table. This was why he couldn’t tell Momo how he felt. Every time he tried to protect her he only ended up hurting her more. Around her, everything he touched turned to dust, lost its shine and went cold. He drained the life out of her, made her small and sad. 

_Like Aizen_ , his mind whispered cruelly, _just like Aizen. You even stabbed her too_.

They got their food and ate in silence. The river was beautiful this time of day, with the sun high in the sky, children and young families playing in the water and on the shore. It was a gorgeous day, cruelly beautiful. Hitsugaya hated it immensely. Or maybe he just hated himself. 

He walked Momo back to her division, listening to her tell him all about her missing captain, about her growing concern for him. Privately, he thought Hirako was probably as on edge about Aizen’s trial as he was, but of course, he didn’t say that. 

He hesitated, but couldn’t quite resist the urge to brush a kiss across Momo’s cheek in parting. Momo touched the skin, wide-eyed and flushing happily. Life rushed back into her eyes and she smiled at him like a small supernova. Hitsugaya’s breath rushed out of him all at once when she leaned forward and gave him her own kiss—a delicate press of lips against the corner of his mouth, just touching his lips. 

She smiled shyly. “Bye Shiro,” she said quietly.

Hitsugaya swallowed and whispered back, a little hoarse, “bye Momo.”

Momo walked away towards her office, glancing back at him over her shoulder only once to send him another bright-eyed smile that made his heat thump against his ribs. When Hitsugaya realised he still had his hand sticking stupidly up in the air, waving, he dropped it with a scowl.

Out of nowhere, an arm slung itself around his shoulder. 

“Well well well,” a voice crooned in his ear, dripping with smug pleasure. “That’s a bit new ain’t it?”

Toshirou shoved the man’s arm off him and glared. “Where the hell did you come from?” He groused.

Captain Hirako pointed towards the tree they were standing under, just in front of the fifth division gate. Hitsugaya growled under his breath, and started to stalk away back towards his own division. Hirako followed him at a loping pace, his strange raptor daemon streaking ahead of him. 

“Momo’s looking for you y’know,” he informed the man angrily.

“I know,” Hirako said easily, hands shoved deep inside the pockets he’d inexplicably sown into his captain’s haori. _Probably just so he looks cooler when he slouches all over everything_ , Hitsugaya thought sourly. He didn’t dislike Hirako exactly, he just learned very early on to be wary of the older captain, and to develop a healthy amount of suspicion for anything he said or did. Hirako always had some kind of hidden agenda.

“She’s worried about you,” Hirako drawled casually.

Hitsugaya whipped around abruptly, stopping in the middle of the street. Hirako stood a few metres away, head tilted so his weird, lopsided fringe hung in his eyes. _The pockets _do_ make him look cooler_ , he thought disgruntledly. 

“ _Me_?” he asked incredulously. “Momo just finished talking about how she was worried about you!”

Hirako screwed up his face and scoffed. He looked at Hitsugaya like he was a particularly dull plank of wood.

“Well that’s different ain’t it? Momo’s only been worried about me for a coupla days. Weeks, max,” Hirako slouched a little closer, eyeing Hitsugaya sharply. “ _You_ she’s been stewing over for _years_. You gotta stop screwing with her.”

Hitsugaya’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “You think _I’m_ screwing with her?” He hissed, stepping forward with dangerous intent.

Hirako held up his hands.

“Woah, easy there kiddo. Ya don’t do it intentionally or nothin. Ya just got that way about ya where everything ya do is do or die, ya know? Ya don’t half ass anythin. Makes ya a great captain. Makes ya capable. But it worries the hell outa Momo.” Hirako shrugged, squinting at the sky. “People like us, we don’t share our burdens. It can be hard on the people that love us,” he continued a bit more softly.

Hitsugaya frowned, wondering briefly, madly, if the man had been following them all afternoon, or if he really was just as observant as Hitsugaya was beginning to suspect. “What’re you giving me life advice for Hirako?” He asked. “Why the hell are you here at all?”

“Momo’s my lieutenant. Gotta make sure she’s taken care of.”

His eyes narrowed, watching the way Hirako shifted on his feet, voice almost _too_ casual. 

“Bullshit,” he said bluntly.

Hirako blinked at him in surprise. “Ya don’t think I care about Momo-chan?”

“I don’t think she’s why you're here,” he corrected.

The other captain raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Well well, on the ball as always Captain Hitsugaya.” 

The visored grinned widely, like a shark among fishes. 

Hitsugaya shifted on his feet uneasily. 

“I need ya help kid.”

\--

Hitsugaya looked around in surprise when the 13th division office materialised in front of him and he was able to remember, abruptly, that it existed, and was _not_ a massive empty space in the middle of the 13th division grounds.

“Huh,” he said.

“Yep,” said Hirako, popping the ‘p’ sound. “It’s my mate Hachi’s invention, a barrier kido that erases whatever’s inside from people’s minds. Pretty scary huh?”

Hitsugaya nodded mutely and let the other captain escort him inside. Ukitake and Kyouraku were there as expected— where one captain was the other usually wasn’t far away, he’d found. Once Hirako had closed the door behind him, they crossed to either side of the room and put the barrier back up. 

Hitsugaya could taste the magic in the air. The kido must be very powerful. He frowned. No, he realised, it was another kind of magic he was sensing, underlying the lighter, gentler hum of the barrier kido. Now that he was listening for it, he could hear two distinct energy signatures humming like discordant notes, together but apart. There was something older, something deeper and somehow richer humming steadily beneath the warbling high note of the barrier kido. It felt… the closest Hitsugaya could come to conceptualizing it was to think of a well of ancient magic, capable of being drawn up from deep within the earth, but resisting the pull.

He frowned and looked at the innocuous formal tea set in the corner of the room. Hitsugaya had never been inside Ukitake’s office before, but if he had, it would have been impossible for him to miss a powerful magical signature like that. 

“Nice tea set,” he said.

Hirako froze.

Ukitake looked up sharply where he was just settling into a plush white arm chair. He stared at Hitsugaya long and hard enough that the young captain felt compelled to fidget in his seat.

“Hmm,” Kyouraku said thoughtfully, looking at Hitsugaya with a single grey eye. Even though Ukitake was staring with greater intensity, it was Kyouraku’s keen-eyed interest that put him on edge, made him think he’d done something wrong. Even though he knew the white-haired captain was dangerous in his own right, he’d always been so needlessly kind to Hitsugaya that he found it hard to be intimidated by the senior captain anymore. Kyouraku on the other hand… Kyouraku had _always_ put him on edge. The man was intimidatingly intelligent and too observant by half. Honestly, he and Hirako were kind of similar.

Kyouraku stroked his chin. 

“Why do you say that Toshirou?” He asked, deceptively casual.

Hitsugaya stiffened. He’d meant it as an innocuous comment, but he should have known better. It was unwise to prod at older, more experienced captain’s and expect anything less than suspicion. He should have known from the taste of the magic that he’d stumbled across a secret of some kind. 

Interestingly, Hirako too was watching him with narrowed eyes, waiting to see how he’d answer.

 _Hirako knows too_ , he assessed quickly, _maybe this has something to do with why he asked for my help, why he brought me here in the first place…_

Hitsugaya shrugged, deciding to just be frank about it. Despite Ukitake’s honest face and open nature, Hitsugaya held no illusions. He knew that he was the least accomplished liar in the room. It would be impossible to pretend the comment had been anything but intentional. 

“You don’t see a lot of magic tea sets, that’s all.”

Ukitake blinked, startled. Kyouraku smiled slowly, and Hirako flat out grinned, crowing with laughter.

“Ya hear that? Boys a natural!” He hollered.

Kyouraku looked amused, and muttered a low, “Indeed.”

Ukitake, in contrast, was still frowning. “Can you clarify what you believe you are sensing Captain Hitsugaya?” 

Hitsugaya looked between the three of them suspiciously. “Does it have something to do with why I’m here?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Ukitake said quietly.

Hitsugaya swallowed. Whatever was happening here, it was serious. Ukitake wouldn’t have looked like that, so grave and _cold_ , for any other reason. 

He got up and walked towards the tea set, crouching down in front of the low table and running his fingers over the cups. Tingles shot up his arms as the magic searched him out curiously. His fingers brushed over the pot and he almost fell backwards. Carefully, he reached out again and pressed his fingers to the spout. He followed the magic up towards the rim of the pot, removing the lid and dipping inside. He gasped.

Ukitake stood. 

Hitsugaya blinked dazedly. “I’m alright,” he said, before the other man could worry too much.

The feel of the magic was indescribable. It was as deep and rich as he’d previously tasted, as deep and ancient as he’d felt— but deadly too. If he’d genuinely tried to weave his intent to dismantle the kido into the bindings of the magic, it would have killed him instantly. The pot, it seemed, was both lock and electric fence. But where was the gate?

Hitsugaya closed his eyes and focused on the sound, the smell, the taste of the magic. _There_ , he thought. It was like sucking on a copper piece, a taste on the back of his tongue that said there was a touch of transmutation kido at work. He ran his hands over the table, bent and pressed his lips against the wood. He ran his tongue over his lips and tasted copper. Hitsugaya smiled.

“The pot is a lock of some kind. It only responds to a particular magical signature—not rietsu I don’t think. There would be leftover traces of Ukitake’s rietsu if that was the case. I’d say it responds a certain combination of seals in a particular order. Some kind of sealed artefact you’d need to put in the pot to open the door.”

“Door,” Kyouraku piped up, sounding far too interested for comfort.

Hitsugaya grunted impatiently. “Yes. The table is covered in transmutation kido. I can taste it. My guess is once the sealed item is placed in the pot, the bindings are keyed to release and the transmutation kido takes effect, revealing a door of some kind, or a passageway. He glanced at where the tea set was situated. “Since _that_ wall backs onto a training ground, I’d say the door opens directly underneath the tea set. You have a secret room under your office Ukitake.”

Hitsugaya stood and looked at the other captains. Hirako had his mouth hanging open unattractively, Kyouraku was smiling a little bemusedly, like Hitsugaya was a puzzle giving him more trouble than he appreciated. Ukitake… Ukitake looked floored, gutted, like he’d reached inside the man’s chest and pulled out something important.

“You,” Ukitake licked his lips, “you can tell all that just by looking?”

Hitsugaya shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with the looks he was getting. As far as he knew _everyone_ could sense this stuff. Sure, he picked things up quicker than most people, it was part of being a genius, but that didn’t mean it was some kind of special skill. “And touching, tasting, feeling,” he elaborated, “but yeah basically. Why?”

Hirako snorted, mouth snapping shut. “Cos it’s amazing kid.”

Hitsugaya raised a doubtful eyebrow. “I bet all of you could pick up more than me. Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I can’t sniff out some perfectly obvious old kido,” he said, starting to get offended by their surprise. Did they think he was _incompetent_ or something? He was a captain. He might still be young, but he didn’t get to his position by sitting on his hands. “Especially when it’s as powerful as _that_. I’m not sensory-dead. Give me a little credit.” 

He crossed his arms.

“Oh!” Ukitake piped up suddenly, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Don’t mistake our surprise as some kind of insult. We’re not shocked because you can do something like this at your age. We’re shocked that you can do it _at all_.”

Hitsugaya faltered, looking between them, honestly a little lost.

Hirako leaned forward. “What he means kid, is that Shunsui and I walked into this office this morning and didn’t smell, taste, feel, or sense _any_ of that stuff. Not even my mate Hachi ever got more than a feeling when someone else was using kido, and _he_ is one of the greatest kido practitioners ever born. He could never have done anything like you just did kid. That was something else.”

“You mean…” Hitsugaya trailed off, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. “You mean everyone can’t do this?”

Kyouraku shook his head, an amused, considering cast to his face. “No. Before today I would have said it was impossible to sense kido like that. We heard you were a talented kido creator, but nothing about your sensory capabilities.”

Hitsugaya froze.

“Who told you I could modify kido?” He asked lowly. It was a skill he kept deliberately secret, a trump card as much as his Bankai. No one should know about it.

Kyouraku looked a little shifty-eyed, and Hitsugaya’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“Who.Told.You?” He bit out, practically spitting.

Hirako looked up from studying his fingernails, legs slung over the side of the chair. “Oh, I did.”

Hitsugaya froze. The air dropped a good ten degrees. 

Ukitake wrapped his haori tighter around his chest, looking between the visored and the younger captain nervously. Kyouraku had his hat tipped over his face, trying to look like he wasn’t watching avidly. 

“And how,” Hitsugaya asked, dangerously quiet, “did _you_ know? I definitely didn’t tell you. Momo didn’t tell you.”

Hirako grinned like a shark, crossing his ankles. “Ya sure about that kid? Momo-chan tells me all kindsa stuff.”

“She didn’t tell you this,” he said, ignoring the jab. There were many things Hitsugaya knew his friend was capable of, betraying his trust was not one of them. Not when it came to something as important as this.

Hirako looked at him slyly. “Alright alright, ya got me.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I followed ya ta that cave you’re always slinking off to in the dark. Couldn’t get inside for the life of me. Let little pink naw at it and everything. Knew you had to be pretty good to create something like that.”

“You followed me, you and Yachiru,” he said dully.

Hirako nodded, looking completely unrepentant. “The other day yeah. Pinky just started following me around for some reason. She’s kinda cute for a brat so I let her. Had to make sure you weren’t screwing around with Momo didn’t I? I coulda sworn we already had this conversation.”

Hitsugaya clenched his teeth, seething. “You left out the part where you invaded my privacy and _stalked_ me all over Serentei!” He bellowed.

“Eh? Whatcha so angry for? Chill out Shiro. I aint gonna tell no one bout your mad kido skills or ya weirdo hermit cave. You’re secrets safe with me.” He paused for a moment. “Well, me Shunsui and Jushirou, but they’re pretty good at keeping their traps shut.”

Hitsugaya was about ready to start pulling his hair out. How was it that this guy didn’t _get_ it. Did he honestly think Hitsugaya gave a crap about whether or not he kept his secrets? Is that _seriously_ what that thundering moron thought he was pissed off about? 

“I don’t _care_ about any of that,” Hitsugaya grit out from between clenched teeth, trying his hardest not to sound like he was contemplating homicide (which he was). “I _care_ that you invaded my privacy. I _care_ that you act like I don’t know how to look out for my best friend— a woman, I might remind you, you’ve only known for two years, who _I’ve_ known since we were growing up in Rukongai.” Hitsugaya stood over the other man, hands clenching and unclenching. “I _care_ that you think you have the right to lecture me, monitor me, and go behind my back, all because you feel vaguely responsible for a woman I have _loved_ for three-hundred years. I _care_ that you feel entitled to interfere in things that are none of your business. _That’s_ what I care about Hirako. Secrets? I couldn’t give a _damn_ about secrets. I care about Momo.”

Hirako looked at him from under his ridiculous fringe, and very slowly started to grin. 

“Well well, now _why_ can’t ya just tell her that eh?”

Hitsugaya was so damn furious he was nearly growling. Hirako was one smart ass comment away from Hyourinmaru chopping off that ridiculous fucking hair. Like he could read Hitsugaya’s mind—or more likely, feel his killing intent—Hirako fingered the red hilt of his zanpakuto teasingly, that same smug smile stretched across his horse teeth, that same _stupid fucking_ lopsided fringe hanging in his eyes. 

Hitsugaya’s hand twitched towards his sword.

Ukitake stepped between them. The older captain laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. 

“Your hair,” Hitsugaya said slowly, forcefully banking his unrelenting rage, “is _stupid_.”

Gratifyingly, Hirako actually looked offended.

“Hitsugaya,” Ukitake said quickly, looking down with a slightly nervous smile. “Why don’t I show you why you’re here?”

\--

The moment Hitsugaya entered the underground archive he was flooded with magic. Kido was everywhere: woven into the air around him, set into the foundations of the space so his every breath, his every step, was an exchange of magic. The kido seals siphoned a small measure of rietsu in exchange for light and protection— leaving behind a kind of magical footprint if you knew how to look for it. 

Looking down, he could see the footprints of the other captains, Ukitake’s by far the most prevalent. He could feel the man’s rietsu it was so prevalent in the room, like walking through a dense golden mist. Ukitake’s rietsu was a warm yellow colour similar to the reishi lamps all around them, which made him wonder about the origins of the strange seals set into the foundations of the building. Kyouraku’s rietsu was a delicate, lofty pink colour that drifted around their shoulders like curious clouds as they walked. Hirako’s rietsu was by far the most interesting however. Hitsugaya could see the other captain’s original rietsu was a deep red colour. It hung heavily in the air, signposting his every exhale, making it look like the man was spraying arterial blood with every breath. Uncomfortably, it made him think of Ukitake’s sickness and he found himself focusing on the oily film that overlayed the visored’s rietsu instead. It was hollow energy; Hitsugaya recognised it from his interactions with hollows in the transient world. While Hirako’s original rietsu was absorbed into the floor to be used by the seals, the hollow energy sunk to the floor and clung like oil. He almost grimaced every time he had to walk through it. It felt like slime around his ankles and smelled like death.

The minute— the _second_ —Hitsugaya hit the bottom of the stairs he knew why Ukitake wanted him to see this. Each and every single scroll in the room was bound with a powerful sealing kido the likes of which he had never seen. The scrolls glowed with it. He didn’t even need the reishi lamps to see down here. 

He wandered over to the closest scroll, unsurprised to find he couldn’t read a word on the paper. The contents of the scroll were sealed by magic. The kido was immeasurably powerful and of far greater compositional skill than any other he’d seen. The weave of the magic was so intricate, so precise, that there wasn’t even a pressure point to exploit that would have any hope of unravelling the kido. It was seamless.

“Can you read it?” Ukitake asked.

Hitsugaya was trying to think of a more polite way of saying “no way in hell” or “are you _fucking_ kidding me?” when his fingers brushed over the page and the kido shattered like glass. 

There was silence.

“I… have no idea how I did that,” he said honestly. 

_Ayame Tekei_ , the paper read, _Madeline Rogers, Marcus Leeds, Laavanya Kaushik, William Wong_. Hitsugaya read a little further down and almost dropped the scroll when he realised what it was he was holding.

“These are cyclical records,” he said dully. He looked at Ukitake. “What the _hell_ are you doing with cyclical records? These should be stored in the Soul Palace with the rest of the Soul King’s records. Why are they _here_ of all places?”

“They were entrusted to my bloodline a long time ago,” Ukitake said quietly. “We don’t have the time to explain in more detail, just trust me when I say that Yamamoto-soutaichou helped my grandmother build this place a very long time ago at the behest of the Soul King himself. There is a reason I am the captain of the 13th division and why I have remained as such despite my illness. You will just have to trust that I have committed no crime to obtain these documents. I inherited them, as another of my bloodline will do after I pass. I swear to you.”

Kyouraku tilted his hat down, and Hitsugaya swallowed. 

“Right,” he said. “Well, I’m guessing I’m not here to read the Summary of Deeds for the many lives of Ayame Tekei?” 

“Nah,” Hirako piped up, slouching casually against a nearby shelf. “Ya gonna read this one.”

He pulled out a slim purple box from within his robes. It looked innocuous enough, but Hitsugaya could both smell and taste the acidic tang of _see-me-not_ wards, so he knew it was very much deliberate. Hitsugaya held his hand out for the box, and on closer inspection saw there were additional _touch-me-not_ seals etched down the front. Hitsugaya screwed up his nose when the smell of dill pretty much leaped up and smacked him in the face.

“Ugh,” he said. “Urahara made this didn’t he?”

“How the fuck did ya know that?” Hirako asked belligerently.

“Everything that bastard makes smells like dill because of his rietsu. It’s disgusting.”

“Huh,” said Hirako, looking thoughtful. “Y’know now that I think about it Kisuke _is_ a dill kinda guy. He’s green most a the time, weird, fuckin gross, gets inta places he don’t belong.”

Kyouraku grinned lazily. “You should say that to his face.”

Hirako waved him off. “Creepy bastard would just laugh and ask if he could experiment on the kid.” He jerked his thumb at Hitsugaya who bristled at the kid comment— _again_. Something dark came over the older captain’s face, as though Hirako didn’t like the idea of Urahara poking and prodding at him one bit. To be honest, it kind of confused Hitsugaya since he had always gotten the impression Hirako thought he was an annoying little twerp he’d like to squash under his heel. There was no lost love between them that’s for sure.

Kyouraku hummed and turned his attention on Hitsugaya. 

“Can you open that?” He asked curiously. 

Hitsugaya hesitated. 

On the one hand, any invention of Urahara’s was guaranteed to be flawless, and utterly invulnerable under normal circumstances. On the other hand, these were not normal circumstances—and even the most talented of kido practitioners, Hitsugaya had found, left holes in their work. It always used to confuse him why even senior captains performed flawed kido spells. Now that he knew other shinigami didn’t sense kido the way he did it made a bit more sense. 

He looked at Kyouraku, who was still watching him far too intently.

More than likely Kyouraku knew the sequence to unlock the box and just wanted to see what Hitsugaya was capable of. It rankled that the man obviously just wanted to test him, but that dill smell was creeping up his nostrils and he could admit to himself that he was petty enough to relish the chance to destroy something of Urahara’s just for the sake of it after the whole zombie ordeal. As far as he was concerned, Kurotsuchi was Urahara’s fault, and the man could pay the price for the former captain’s sadism. 

Hitsugaya ran his fingers over the box, feeling for faults in the magic and finding none. Impressive, but it did not discount more subtle weakness in the magic. He frowned in concentration, and felt instead for loose threads, something that gaped a little, a piece of magic able to be gripped and pulled. Finally his fingers snagged on something and he smiled. Jerking his wrist, he siphoned rietsu into his fingertips and snapped clean through the kido. In a slow progression, the spell unravelled, the seals sinking back into the box before disappearing entirely.

Hirako frowned at him, crossing his arms and looking like a thundercloud. 

“You’re fixing that later kid,” he snapped. “Strong enough that not even you can break it, yeah?”

“Try that again,” Hitsugaya said lightly. He looked up and smirked. “There should probably be a please in there somewhere, a please _Captain Hitsugaya_.”

Hirako narrowed his eyes and looked off to the side. “Che,” he groused. “It’s always the little mouthy ones… Captain Hitsugaya, _please_ will you fix the box after ya done? Y’know, so Aizen don’t get to it, kill us all, and ascend to the throne of heaven? That’d be just _great_.”

Hitsugaya froze. So did Ukitake and Kyouraku.

“What the _hell_ are you talking about? Aizen’s locked up and about to be put on trial. He isn’t planning anything,” he asked, mystified by the older captain’s ramblings. 

Hirako snorted, laughing a little hysterically, bending over so he could slap a knee. 

Ukitake looked at him with concern.

_Maybe he finally went off the deep end_

Hirako wiped a tear from his cheek, shaking his head.

“The bastard’s _always_ plotting Captain Hitsugaya,” he said mockingly. “It’s what he does. It’s his _default setting_. He don’t know any other way ta be. You can bet he’s got a plan to get outa that cell sooner rather than later.”

“What’re you talking about,” Hitsugaya asked, trepidation crawling up his spine.

Hirako grinned like the Cheshire cat, a crazed light in his eyes that made Hitsugaya nervous.

“That scroll ya got there, it’s Aizen’s. Some mysterious old geezer gave it ta me after I got the summons for old Sousuke’s trial. Reckon if he gets his hands on it he might try to use it as some kind of defence, get the jump on us.”

Kyouraku cleared his throat, interjecting before Hirako could say any more— for which Hitsugaya was grateful. The visored’s smile was starting to creep him out. 

“It’s also possible that Aizen has a mole inside the Tamura family willing to help him achieve a reduced sentence,” Kyouraku said, hat tipped back, looking troubled. 

“The more I think about it the more I realise how _little_ of what Aizen did can be traced back to him, and all the things that can be proven—the kings key, the siege of karakura town, the kidnapping of that little girl ryoka— they can all be equally attributed to Gin and Tosen, both of whom are dead and unable to defend themselves if Aizen tries to pin this all on them. There is a possibility, slim though it may be, that Aizen could receive a light sentence due to insufficient evidence, or just because he spun a believably story about Gin being the mastermind all along, or Tosen being so driven by revenge he recruited them to help him destroy the shinigami and take over soul society.”

“All a that, plus that cyclical record ya got there in ya hand, probably saying old Sousuke’s impact on the world has been all kittens and rainbows, means we’re in real deep shit proving he was masterminding _anything_ ,” Hirako finished grimly, face frighteningly blank.

Hitsugaya’s head was spinning in a million different directions. There were so many things wrong with that he couldn’t even begin to process it, but his brain was stuck on one thing. “Aizen? This is Aizen’s cyclical record?” He asked, staring at the scroll like it was a live grenade. 

Hirako shrugged, looking shockingly calm for someone who was laughing hysterically a minute ago. 

“Yeah. So?” Hirako turned around and all Hitsugaya could see of him were the tense, bunching muscles of his back. “Bastard’s plotting again, so what? What the fuck else is new? Doesn’t help us does it? What’s gonna help us is makin sure Sousuke don’t ever get his damn dirty hands on that scroll.”

“Why…” Hitsugaya trailed off, mind whirling. “Why are you assuming Aizen wants to use this as some kind of defence? Maybe the man who gave you this wanted you to use it to put Aizen away for good. Maybe _this_ ,” he held up the scroll, “is incriminating.”

Hirako blinked, looking like it hadn’t even occurred to him that the contents of Aizen’s scroll might be bad, that the self-proclaimed god might _not_ have had a positive impact on the world after all. Maybe it was because Hirako had been beaten down, betrayed and mutated by Aizen for so long he just couldn’t help but assume Aizen had prepared for every eventuality, or maybe it was something else, something Hitsugaya wasn’t seeing, but it seemed to him that Hirako had a bit of a blind spot when it came to Aizen’s capacity for fallibility.

Hitsugaya looked at the stunned expressions on Ukitake and Kyouraku’s face and revised that assessment. Obviously none of them had considered the idea that Aizen might not have been a saint in his other lifetimes. That maybe this could _help_ them prove he was a monster that needed to be put away for good.

“Only one way to find out,” Ukitake said, eyeing the scroll meaningfully.

Hitsugaya swallowed his nerves and opened the scroll. 

With the kido seal still in place he could only read the current information, _Aizen Sousuke: 1303 –_

Hirako poked his head over the shorter captain’s shoulder and immediately frowned. 

“Huh,” he pressed his pointer finger to his chin, “bastard’s the same age as me, who’d a known?”

Kyouraku and Ukitake exchanged a meaningful glance behind Hirako’s back that Hitsugaya didn’t have time to think about. He looked at Hirako coldly to get him to shut up, and blew out a breath, preparing himself to open the scroll.

 _Whatever you find, no matter what, Aizen is going to rot in the Muken for eternity_ , he reminded himself.

Then he pressed the tip of his forefinger to the paper.

The scroll exploded outwards, paper shooting out behind him like a great tongue, lengthening to such an extent that it rolled across the floor and hit the bottom of the stairs. It was at least seven times as long as Hitsugaya was tall.

Hirako blinked. “Fuck, maybe the bastard _will_ live forever.”

“That _is_ a lot of past lives,” Ukitake said, frowning, his eyes darting towards Hirako and away again quickly.

Kyouraku picked up a length of paper about half way down the scroll and began to read. He frowned. “I can’t read this language.”

“The names are all written in their original dialect so you have to understand the language to be able to read the text,” Ukitake chimed in from where he was glancing over a section of scroll a couple of paces down from Hitsugaya himself. 

Hitsugaya looked over at Ukitake and his breath caught. 

He heard Ukitake call out for him to check the top of the scroll for Aizen’s Summary of Deeds, but he was frozen, staring past Ukitake’s shoulder right at the pulsing, angry, hunk of butchered rope he could now see sticking out of Hirako’s chest. 

_Soul bond_ , his mind whispered, _a broken tether_

Hitsugaya let go of the scroll and Hirako’s chest looked whole and normal, touched it again and the butchered tether was back, sticking grotesquely out of his chest like some kind of poisonous growth. It was… _wrong_.

“Hitsugaya?” Ukitake asked, brows furrowing gently. Ukitake followed his line of sight towards the oblivious visored and his face shuttered. “Don’t look,” he ordered quietly.

“What?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“What do you _mean_ he doesn’t know? How can he not know? This is…” he trailed off, not sure how to summarise ‘fucking awful’, ‘disturbing’, and ‘makes sense actually’ in one phrase.

“I know,” Ukitake agreed, despite having no idea what he was thinking. Ukitake pursed his lips together. “Sometimes when a person’s bond has been broken long enough they can forget they ever had one to begin with. They can become so used to the loneliness and the emptiness that they forget what it felt like to be whole.”

Hitsugaya watched Hirako cackle to himself as he read a section of Aizen’s scroll. 

“Hey guys,” he hooted, “Aizen died taking a shit one time! Oh that’s _gold_.” 

Hitsugaya watched as Hirako dipped closer to the paper to read a small bit of text and a tendril of rope materialised from inside the severed, fist-sized mass sticking out of his chest. The tendril swayed in the air, reaching out towards the scroll beseechingly. Hitsugaya could feel the aching loneliness of the man’s soul from here, and felt a pang of sympathy for Hirako. It didn’t matter who was on the other end of Hirako’s broken tether, just that the man was obviously in pain. 

Hirako’s brow furrowed and he placed a hand over his chest just as the tendril touched the paper and began to thicken and grow, connecting just the slightest bit, with the latent energy from Aizen’s former lives. Hitsugaya held his breath and he heard Ukitake do the same. Hirako’s face screwed up and Hitsugaya could _see_ the moment he slammed his walls back down, closed himself off to the connection. The golden tendril blinked out of existence just as suddenly, and Hirako seemed to wilt before their eyes. Now that he’d seen what Hirako looked like with just a tiny piece of that broken tether healed, he realised how empty the man looked, how broken. 

_Dead man walking_ , his mind whispered.

Hitsugaya looked down at Aizen's Summary of Deeds, noting that in all but one lifetime he had earned a negative karma balance. For some reason, he found it hard to be happy. 

He turned to Ukitake.

“I didn’t know it was even _possible_ to break a soul bond,” he said in a dull whisper.

Ukitake sighed sadly.

“It’s the greatest pain you could ever experience, being separated from your other half. Most bonded pairs don’t survive the process and those that do…” Ukitake trailed off. He looked at Hitsugaya, eyes old and very sad all of a sudden. “They don't keep their minds very long. It is a slow, lonely decay of the mind and the soul. I would not wish it on my worst enemy.”

Hitsugaya closed his eyes. 

Suddenly, the last three years made a horrible kind of sense.


	4. Before the Trial - Day Three, S.P.I.D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It seemed to him that, well, call him crazy, but it seemed like the two men had danced this dance before._

Dante perched on the lip of the bath, watching Urahara through slitted reptilian eyes.

Urahara squinted back, happy as a cat. “Ah Dante-san, what can I do for you?”

Dante’s eyes narrowed further. “Stop it.”

“Mmm?” Urahara inquired lazily, head on hand while his other hand skimmed the warm water.

“I said stop it.”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean Dante-san,” Urahara said innocently.

Dante slithered around the lip of the tub, stretching his long body over the water until his head hovered just before Urahara’s maddeningly guileless eyes. 

“Stop pretending to be normal you ingrate. You know I hate it when you do that.”

Delilah crept over Kisuke’s collarbone, a smudge of red and black against pale human skin, and riveted her eight beady eyes on him. She was maddeningly unreadable, as always. 

Urahara chuckled and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Ah sorry Dante-san. I’m afraid my extended stay in the human world has led me to forget some of your peculiarities.”

Dante hissed viciously, the tip of his tongue snapping out and striking the man sharply on the nose. 

Urahara blinked.

“You didn’t _forget_ you moron. You’re just a maddening idiot who enjoys making me angry for no reason.” Dante’s eyes slitted until only a narrow line of gold could be seen between green lids. “I hate you so very much Kisuke.”

“Love you too Dante-san,” the blonde scientist said sweetly, arms curling around his knees like a child as he smiled stupidly.

“Moron,” Dante grumbled. “Why is it when I say one thing you must always hear another?”

Urahara sighed happily, dipping his head back to wash the shampoo out of his ridiculous hair. With that horrid dishwater-blonde mop slicked back from his face, the man almost looked normal. 

Almost.

“Because Dante-san is always so delightfully contrary of course. If I did not hear what he meant to say, I’m afraid I would get the wrong idea about his feelings towards me.” Urahara opened his eyes a fraction, cloudy grey looking sly. “And then where would we be?”

Dante shifted in place and retreated to the lip of the tub, oddly disgruntled. “Master wants to see you,” he groused, changing the subject.

Urahara blinked, tilting his head. “Why didn’t he come tell me himself?”

Dante stared at him. For such an intelligent man, Kisuke could be as dim as a dead lightbulb.

“You’re in the bath,” Dante said flatly, rolling his eyes at the man’s utter stupidity.

Urahara smiled coyly. “I assure you I wouldn’t have minded.”

Dante spluttered and would have gone red in the face if he had the ability. 

“Must you always be so crude?!”

Urahara blinked at Dante with wide grey eyes, looking completely innocent. 

It was such a maddening act. 

To see a man of Kisuke’s brilliance reduced to a smiling, happy, easy-going, _moron_ , just to give people the impression that he was only half as brilliant as they knew him to be, was utterly maddening. More than that, it was _insulting_. For a man of Kisuke’s intellectual capacity to hide his natural gifts beneath a façade of good-natured idiocy was an affront to everything Dante and his master stood for. Kisuke was a brilliant scientist. More brilliant, even, than Dante’s master— which had always stung. That the man did not even have the decency to look as such was the worst possible insult. 

Urahara slipped under the water a little further, eyes curving happily. “As always, I apologise if I offended Dante-san. It was not my intention.”

“Please,” Dante hissed. “If you are going to lie so blatantly, I don’t see how you expect me to believe anything you say.”

Urahara hummed pleasantly, a maddening non-answer, and began soaping up his chest. Delilah crept behind his ear.

Dante slithered towards the door, seething over all the ways Kisuke strove to drive him crazy. It was for this reason, perhaps, that the daemon neglected to tell the man to put on some pants, or mention why he would be wanting to.

\--

“Get moving brat.”

“Mmmmm no.”

“Now.”

“I don’t wanna.” 

Yachiru crossed her arms and pouted. It was an expression Isane had seen break many shinigami with its irrepressible cuteness. The way Kiki, Yachiru’s currently blue and pink spotted chameleon daemon, gazed soulfully out at the world from the crook of her neck only added to the effect of unbearable adorableness. 

“I don’t give a shit,” said Captain Obata, scowling down at the pink-haired vice-captain like the girl was a particularly annoying bug she’d love nothing more than to squash, but was obligated to preserve for reasons she did not fully understand or agree with. “Don’t you have your own division to terrorise?”

Yachiru cocked her head, staring up at the Captain like she was some kind of scowling god.

“What’s a division?” Yachiru asked wonderingly, before screwing up her face as though pondering the deepest and most philosophical question in the known universe. She perked up, garnet eyes almost doubling in size. “Can I eat it?”

Isane’s knees almost buckled when the captain’s spiritual pressure sky rocketed with her temper. Outside the closed clinic door Isane could hear the thump of several bodies hitting floor and the cries of other higher ranked officers dropping to their knees. 

She shuffled further into the corner of the room to avoid being noticed, because, well, her captain was scary when she was angry…and when she wasn’t. Basically, Isane thought with a sigh, her captain was scary all the time. 

Isane watched the exchange. Judging from the bulging vein in her captain’s forehead this impasse had been going on for quite some time. Or maybe the captain was just feeling short tempered today. Well, more than usual anyway.

Isane had only come to inform the captain that Captain Hitsugaya was here asking to see her, but now she wished she’d just sent the young captain in himself. No doubt Isane would be feeling the backlash from Yachiru’s visit for the rest of the day along with the rest of the officers unlucky enough to work directly under Captain Obata. The captain was an amazing medic, truly comparable to Captain Unohana, but Isane sometimes wished she was a bit more… delicate. 

Obata’s scowl only deepened. By her feet, Egramon dug his claws into the floor and flicked his tongue in displeasure. Yachiru ignored the angry Komodo Dragon and continued to stare up at the equally angry captain like she was her new hero, much to the captain’s obvious displeasure. 

“No,” she said scathingly. “Are you some kind of idiot?”

Yachiru wilted. “Oh.”

Isane’s heart melted. She wanted to scoop the little girl up and cuddle her until she stopped looking so disheartened. Yachiru was just too cute. 

It was hard to remember most of the time that she was a cold blooded killer.

Isane frowned to herself, abruptly unsettled. 

“Vice Captain Kusajishi,” Obata said with some measure of forced calm. “It is long past time for you to go. You are causing a disturbance in my hospital. Leave now of your own volition…or in a body bag.”

Captain Obata cracked her knuckles ominously. 

Isane was very nearly appalled.

Yachiru pressed her finger to her chin, apparently thinking very hard about something. “But…” she said, face screwing up in confusion. “All the body bags are here. Why would I leave in one?”

Obata closed her eyes, sighing long-sufferingly. “It was an expression Kusajishi.”

“Who?”

Obata cocked an eyebrow, looking wary at the abrupt change in conversation. “I’m sorry?”

“Who’s that?”

“Who?”

“Kusa-ji?”

Obata’s eyes narrowed. “Kusajishi.”

“Yeah!” Yachiru jumped up and down excitedly. “Who’s that? Is that you?”

“That’s _you_ ,” Obata said slowly, like she was talking to a particularly stupid plank of wood. 

“Ah, thought so,” Yachiru said sagely. She smiled up at her kindly, the expression light years beyond her usual puppyish excitement and wide-eyed wonder. “It suits you.”

Obata frowned. “No _no_. It suits _you_.”

“Yeah you! That’s what I said!”

Obata grit her teeth and the spiritual pressure in the room almost doubled. 

Isane started to feel a little winded, and outside the door another couple of bodies hit the floor. 

“No,” said Obata, hands clenching and unclenching, “when I say you I mean _you_ , as in you, Yachiru Kusajishi.”

Yachiru thought about this, pink brow furrowed cutely. After a moment she nodded, a slow, measured acceptance.

Captain Obata let out a sigh, relaxing, her spiritual pressure losing its stifling edge. Isane relaxed along with her captain and breathed a sigh of relief. 

Thank god. That could have escalated horribly. Isane could hardly imagine what would have happened if—

“You Yachiru Kusajishi…now that’s a pretty name. I wish _my_ name was that pretty,” Yachiru bemoaned sadly, scuffing her sandals.

Very slowly so she didn’t attract attention, Isane clamped her hands over her ears.

There was a very long moment of silence.

Then Captain Obata snarled, eyes wide and incredulous to the point of fury. 

“Yachiru Kusajishi is YOUR NAME. I did not think you would need this spelled out for you, but apparently, despite my already meagre expectation of your intelligence, you have somehow managed to fall short of even that!” She bellowed, loud enough that Isane could hear the roar of noise from behind her fingers.

Isane prepared herself for tears, but the little girl didn’t even look upset.

“It’s alright You,” Yachiru said kindly, patting one of Captain Obata’s trembling knees. At this point, her whole body was trembling in fury. “I used to have trouble remembering my name too. We’ll try again next time I visit, okay?” 

Yachiru grinned widely, her teeth sparkling, and skipped out the door.

Captain Obata watched her go, a slightly manic look in her eye.

“Isane,” she said.

Isane gulped, removing her hands from her ears. “Yes captain?”

“If you ever leave me to deal with that _thing_ again I will strangle you with your own entrails. Or perhaps hers, depending on what kind of mood I’m in.”

Isane let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of her head.

The captain pinned her with a look, black eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “I’m not joking.”

Isane shut up. She bowed. “Yes mam.” She licked her lips. “Captain Hitsugaya is here to see you.”

Captain Obata raised an eyebrow. “Is he?” She swept her long dark hair back from her face and pinned it to the top of her head with a blood-red jewelled clip. “Well send him to my office to wait. I won’t be a moment.”

Isane bowed low and kept bowing until her captain left the room in a regal sweep of white and black fabric. Then she slumped against the nearest clinic bed and let out a long, rattling sigh of relief. 

_Well, that could have gone worse_ , she thought optimistically, ignoring the dark part of her brain that ensured her that the only way it could have gone worse is if the captain had actually snapped and killed her and Yachiru with their own internal organs.

That, Isane decided as she adjusted her robes into some form of order, was a problem for another day. Still…

…she hoped Yachiru didn’t come back anytime soon.

\--

Captain-Commander Kyouraku Shunsui approached the gates of the 12th division feeling heavier than he had in weeks. Uncertainty made him feel uncomfortable, like he was walking around in ill-fitting skin. He fingered the ruff scruff around his chin and jaw, feeling ill-kept and slightly frazzled for the first time since the war. 

_Stumbling around in the dark doesn’t suit me_ , he thought.

Shunsui frowned thoughtfully as he considered what they knew, or more accurately what they _didn’t_ know, because at this stage they had far more questions than answers about Aizen Sousuke.

If Aizen was planning some kind of escape (and it was still a big if despite Shinji’s certainty) his cyclical record would not aid him in crafting a defence. Being comprised of a less than flattering Summary of Deeds, it would only serve as evidence of a pattern of harmful intent at odds with the will of the universe, strung like smatterings of grey cloud through the blue sky of Aizen’s many lives.

Of course this meant that Toshirou was correct in thinking the man who gave the scroll to Shinji wanted them to use it against Aizen during his trial. This revelation however presented numerous questions all on its own, first and foremost being _why_ the unknown man would go to all the trouble of stealing the cyclical record from Jushirou only to deliver it into the hands of Shinji. Shinji was one of the few people who probably could have persuaded Jushirou to allow him access to Aizen’s scroll to begin with. The obvious answer was that Shinji, as well as Shunsui, had no idea Jushirou had those records in his possession until the old man gave Shinji the scroll, but even then the better plan would have been to expose Jushirou’s secret archive and let Shinji make the obvious deduction from there. The whole plan seemed kind of redundant, to put it plainly. 

Then, there was the question of how the man got around Jushirou’s grandmothers wards in the first place. Shunsui had felt the power of those wards. He doubted even Aizen could have found a way to disable them. This led him to consider the idea that another of Jushirou’s bloodline may have taken the scroll, though the white-haired man stated explicitly that no one but he and his father knew about the secret archive. Shunsui was not nearly at a point where he suspected Jushirou’s father, or any of his family, of stealing from Jushirou, but it was still an avenue that needed to considered.

The biggest and most troubling question of all, however, was how Aizen planned to ascend to the Soul Palace without the King’s Key. If the man was indeed planning to escape, as Captain-Commander Shunsui had to be sure there was no way Aizen could possibly reach the Soul King. All his theories and questions were useless if Aizen had a way of ascending to the Soul Palace. For assurance against that idea, Shunsui would need to talk to the only man of greater intelligence than Aizen, the man responsible for the Soul King’s new defence system.

Shunsui waved jauntily at the guard manning the gate and swanned through the 12th division’s palatial entryway. It was almost twice as large as any other division’s. Kurotsuchi, despite his madness, had always had a taste for the grand and expensive. Luckily, the significant technological advancements his division made meant he had been able to afford it.

Shunsui stepped into the office at division headquarters and a bored looking 13th seat directed him towards the largest of the several labs comprising the 12th division grounds. 

When Shunsui stepped inside the tall, spire-like building, he was surprised to note the sheer number of people inside, moving around, completing various tasks, looking busier and more focused than anyone in his division ever had.

The 13th seat (Matsuda? He really needed to start remembering the higher ranking officers names…) pointed him towards a tall blue-haired shinigami standing over a frightened looking lab technician, holding what looked like some kind of dead animal carcass, shaking it as he yelled at the smaller man. 

Frowning, Shunsui wandered over as casually as possible and cleared his throat to get the unknown man’s attention. He didn’t look familiar, but that didn’t mean anything. Shunsui was not very good with names, or faces, or remembering things. It was possible Shunsui had met this man several times over the years and simply did not remember. It was also possible he hadn’t. It felt like Shinigami were multiplying like rabbits these days, and had the lifespans to match.

The man turned towards him, scowling. He looked Shunsui over, an imperious look in his strange golden eyes. “What do _you_ want?” He asked, quite rudely. The technician he had been scolding took the man’s distraction as an opportunity to run away. 

Shunsui was taken aback. Not many people would have the guts to take such a tone with the Captain-Commander. Yet this man was looking at Shunsui like he was a fly he would like nothing more than to swat.

Shunsui, mystified by the man’s apparent hatred for him, smiled pleasantly and decided to ignore the attitude. He would simply ask Urahara for the man’s name and let the other captain deal with the man’s attitude. It wasn’t like Shunsui really cared about displays of respect, but blatant disrespect was another matter entirely. No leader, laid back or otherwise, would tolerate such hostility from a subordinate.

“Matsuda-san said you would know where your captain was. I would try finding him myself, but I’m afraid this place is large enough that I might actually get lost,” Shunsui explained, smiling in a manner he had been reliably informed was roguishly handsome. 

At this point most people—man or woman—would be stuttering and falling all over themselves to help him out. _This man_ , however, just sneered.

“Oh yes. The _captain_. I suppose you _would_ want to see him.”

“Uh…” 

“Well come this way don’t dawdle,” the man ordered, stalking away fast enough that Shunsui had to scramble to keep up. Something about his tone of voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t for the life of him put his finger on what it was. Shunsui just caught the shape of the man’s daemon (a snake of some variety) slip ahead of them and round the corner at almost double their speed, presumably to warn Urahara they were coming.

The blue-haired shinigami led him down a series of seemingly identical corridors that made Shunsui glad he had a guide—even one as rude and ill-tempered as this— before they crossed a bridge into another building entirely. They came to a stop at the end of an unnecessarily long hallway in front of an innocuous looking white door with a smudge of green paint on the knob.

The snake that Shunsui really _did_ recognise, but still couldn’t actually remember, slithered under the door and up the other Shinigami’s uniform.

The man didn’t even bother knocking before storming in like he owned the place. Shunsui might not have appreciated the man’s hostility but he liked his attitude, he decided.

There was a startled yelp from beyond the door and the sound of splashing water, but it was not until the man said: “Stop luxuriating in your own filth you buffoon. That idiot Kyouraku is here to see you,” that Shunsui remembered.

 _Oh my god_ , Shunsui thought, somewhere between giddy and horrified at the realisation, _that’s what Kurotsuchi looks like under all the paint, weird clothes and the creepy voice? I thought he’d look less…well, normal. How disappointing…_

Shunsui peeked through the doorway just in time to see Kurotsuchi peg Urahara in the face with a towel. Urahara pin-wheeled in the bath and would have fallen if not for the arm Kurotsuchi snapped out to brace him. At the exact moment Kurotsuchi’s hand made contact with Urahara’s bicep and their eyes snapped together like locks clicking into place, there was a boom of invisible thunder in the air that Shunsui felt down to his bones. It felt like his soul was being crushed, his very being condensed into something impossibly small. His vision narrowed and Shunsui was suddenly able to see the thin silver tether strung between the two scientists’ chests, swaying with the motion of their bodies like a delicate white-gold necklace hung suspended between sharp collarbones. 

Shunsui must have made some kind of undignified sound of shock because Kurotsuchi looked over his shoulder, took in Shunsui’s expression with those strange golden eyes, and sighed loudly. 

The tension snapped and suddenly Shunsui could breathe again. He almost staggered, but managed to catch himself against the doorframe when his vision blacked out for a moment. 

“How bothersome,” Kurotsuchi grumbled.

Urahara laughed. “Hm, it is isn’t it?” He agreed pleasantly and Kurotsuchi gripped him tighter around the biceps.

Kurotsuchi glared at his captain. “Oh shut up will you? This is not the time for your games.”

Urahara pouted, squirming in the other man’s grip in such a way that it almost made Shunsui blush. 

“So cruel!” He exclaimed, looking at Shunsui beseechingly. “Isn’t he cruel Captain-Commander?”

“Uh,” said Shunsui eloquently.

Kurotsuchi rolled his eyes. “Just get dressed,” he snapped at Urahara.

Urahara smiled up at him, wide-eyed and adoring, and hummed. “Anything for you dear.”

Kurotsuchi, to Shunsui’s unrelenting amazement, actually blushed at the other man’s display of affection. He glanced at the ceiling in embarrassment, looking like he wished he could erase the last few minutes from the space time continuum. Shunsui, noting the strategic way Kurotsuchi stood in front of Urahara to hide his nakedness, felt a brief flash of sympathy for the man. 

Shunsui knew better than anyone that a soul bond was a very private thing. It was a common misconception that only soul bonded pairs could see their tethers. It was a romantic notion, one that made Shunsui smile, and not as far off base as one might think. For the most part the theory was accurate. There were only two exceptions to the rule that he knew of. The first was when the bonded pair connected in front of another person: like he and Jushirou had in front of Shinji, and Kurotsuchi and Urahara had just moments ago. The second was far less common. It was when the bonded person trusted someone on a deep enough level that they felt comfortable letting that person see the truest expression of their soul. 

Jushirou had been able to see Shinji’s broken tether since the young man was a student under the older captain’s care, something Shunsui had always been a little disgruntled about, much to Jushirou’s amusement. Jushirou had confided in Shunsui one night not too long after Aizen’s betrayal, when the other man was feeling particularly old and sentimental, that the reason he took such an interest in Shinji, why he decided to mentor him over all the other promising academy recruits under his command, was that he felt a unique kinship with the boy. Jushirou had sympathised greatly with the boy with the broken tether and was always looking for ways to make his life a little easier. Making him strong, Jushirou had thought, might help him bear the weight of such a traumatic separation.

Shunsui frowned, and considered what he had put off considering since Jushirou informed him of his and Toshirou’s revelation in the secret archive. For a man as paranoid and suspicious as Hirako Shinji to have been bonded to someone as duplicitous and manipulative as Aizen Sousuke should seem like insanity. They were enemies. There had been very little affection between them even when Aizen was Shinji’s vice-captain. Shinji had been suspicious of Aizen’s character since the moment he laid eyes on him, and Aizen… Shunsui wasn’t going to attempt to divine the motivations of a mad man, but he strongly suspected he had an innate wariness of Shinji to match Shinji’s suspicion of him. The two of them… it should seem ridiculous. 

Somehow, though, it didn’t.

He wondered about that.

It seemed to him that, well, call him crazy, but it seemed like the two men had danced this dance before. 

Instinct was not enough to account for the way Shinji understood Aizen, or the way Aizen could anticipate Shinji down to his sword release without ever having seen it. When he thought about it like that… yeah, Shunsui could see it. 

Really, it was no wonder the two of them were both a little loopy if their connection had been broken as long as Shunsui suspected it had. He wondered, briefly, if Shinji suspected who was on the other end of his tether, or if he even knew he had one to begin with. If Shinji had realised, the other man had never let on. 

Shunsui let himself be herded out of the room by Kurotsuchi, and watched in amusement as the man stood guard in front of the door, while simultaneously trying to pretend like he wasn’t. The man’s poisonous glare let him know any questions regarding what he had witnessed of the two scientist’s relationship would not be met with anything even approaching mercy. 

Shunsui leaned back against the opposite wall, hat tipped over his grinning face, and settled in to wait.

\--

Captain Obata Rin of the 4th division stepped into her office and stopped short, eyes narrowing on the figure sprawled casually in the consultation chair opposite her desk. 

“Captain Hirako,” she said as pleasantly as she could manage— which wasn’t much considering the morning she’d had entertaining the tiny pink devil and the wholly unexpected and frankly unwelcome company now languishing in her office like a vagabond. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Hirako grinned lazily, picking at his teeth with one overlong fingernail.

Obata’s lip curled in distaste at the poor manners.

_How uncouth…_

“The kid had ta run,” Shinji explained, jerking his thumb at the door. Presumably, ‘the kid’ was Captain Hitsugaya. Obata would pay good money to see Hirako say that to the young captain’s face. His ice-release was said to be quite spectacular. “Something about a summons from the Captain-Commander. Asked me ta pass on his apology.”

Obata cocked an inquisitive eyebrow and bit back her smile in case her cruel amusement with the man’s blatant lie showed on her face. 

“Really?” Obata swept around the desk and perched behind it, steepling her fingers. She levelled Hirako with a penetrating gaze. “Because just an hour ago I received word that my own meeting with the Captain-Commander was to be rescheduled as he was likely to be engaged with the 12th division Captain for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Che,” Shinji grumbled, grin slipping a little. “Not a lot gets past ya, does it Rin-chan?”

Obata pursed her lips. “It’s Captain Obata… and no.”

Shinji put his feet up on the desk and Obata narrowed her eyes at them. Filthy and unkempt as always. She didn’t bother to hide her disgust. 

“I wanted ya medical opinion about something.” 

Obata raised an eyebrow.

“And your query could not wait until Captain Hitsugaya and I concluded our business?”

“The kid’s got the same questions I do, yeah? Only difference is I’ve got the right ta ask em,” he said, jaw clenched in a way that Obata knew meant he was both angry and embarrassed by the young captain’s interference in his business.

Obata leaned forward, suitably intrigued. 

“Why come to me?”

He must know what she was really asking. There were many other highly qualified doctors in the fourth division. If he had an embarrassing medical question, surely he’d be better off going to Isane or Hanatarou or some other bleeding heart that would treat it with a little delicacy. 

“Unfortunately, you’re the only one who’s likely ta know.”

Obata considered this.

“Get your feet off the desk and never again enter my office without permission,” she bargained, “then you may ask me whatever you wish. I will answer to the best of my ability.”

Hirako chuckled. “Then I want complete confidentiality. None a what I tell ya leaves this room.”

Obata nodded in acquiescence. “In that case, there will be no more calling me Rin-chan either.”

Shinji’s feet hit the floor and he leaned forward on his elbows, smirking wryly. “Ya got yourself a deal Obata, now what do ya know about soul bonds?”

Obata studied him, dark eyes inscrutable. That… was not what she had expected. Still, she could oblige. The subject of soul bonds had always been one of intense personal fascination. 

“The scientific term for a bonded soul is _Knytanima_ , from the latin root words for ‘bonded’ and ‘soul’. It is said by those who still remember such things that Knytanima pairs are woven together by a kind of…rope, lets say, made from a portion of their own souls. Since new souls are continuing to be created by the Soul King as we speak, some soul bonded pairs may be older than others, but never older than each other. Their life force is tied to one another. They must enter and exit each life as one, because no soul can cross over to the other side without their partner.”

“What about broken bonds?” Hirako asked, after a long moment spent considering her words with unusual gravity. 

Obata paused. “I only know of such a thing happening twice. As such there is not enough data to make a definitive judgement, but from what I have heard, read, and witnessed… it never ends well.”

Hirako narrowed his eyes, hands clasped tightly together in front of him. “Witnessed… what did ya witness?”

Obata leaned back in her chair with a sigh, eyes drifting towards the window. “I was fresh out of the academy and had just started training to become a medic. My trainee squad was made up of three junior medics including myself, and one senior medic that trained us and oversaw our progress. We were doing practical field experience as a medical unit in Rukongai when we responded to an emergency summons that said a woman had been stabbed in the chest and required immediate medical attention. When we arrived the woman was incoherent and barely clinging to life, but there wasn’t a scratch on her. No stab wound, no injuries. She was perfectly healthy, but her pulse was weakening, her vitals were fading, her skin was paling. She was dying and none us of, not even the senior medic, had any idea why.”

“She had a broken bond,” Hirako interjected, abnormally solemn. 

Obata nodded, eyes glazed with memory. 

“The only reason we knew about it was because Captain Ukitake was the one who called us in. He’d been keeping the woman alive using healing kido to stabilize her physical symptoms, but was unable to do more than that due to his generalised knowledge. He asked my instructor if she knew a way to heal a wound like that, but none of us, not even my instructor, had ever seen an injury like that before. Even once we knew what the problem was, there was no helping her. It was an emotional wound, not a physical one. The way Ukitake explained it: the tether was more than a connection, it was a valve keeping the soul inside the body, and when that valve broke the soul began to flow from the body like blood from a wound. In the end there was nothing we could do to save her. You can’t cauterise a soul wound.”

Obata turned back from the window to see Hirako looking down at his own chest, fingers brushing the air just in front like he was caressing something unseen. Her curiosity peaked.

“Why do you want to know all this anyway?”

Hirako pinned her with a hard look that nonetheless seemed to lack its usual edge. “None of ya business Obata.”

She hummed to herself, considering the man’s defensive posture and out of character attitude, but did not probe any further. 

“Was there anything else?” She asked curiously.

“What if someone did survive a broken bond?” Hirako asked, eyes far away and intent on something she couldn’t see. “What would happen to them?”

“I…” she trailed off, swallowing a sudden influx of nerves at the way Hirako was hanging off her every word like it was vitally important. She remembered the way the woman had looked at her, the way she’d begged for death like it was her only salvation, her only escape from the pain and torment. “I’m not sure, but… I think it would be very wrong for someone to have to exist that way. Unnatural. Living would hurt more than I could possibly put into words.”

They sat in silence for a few moments and Obata was just about to speak when Hirako tilted his head back and smirked at the ceiling.

“Well,” he said to himself, “aint that something…”

Obata narrowed her eyes.

“Hirako, are you sure you’re alright?”

Hirako slanted her a look and grinned. “Like you give a fuck.”

She shrugged. “It would make me look bad if you died in my office because you were too stupid to seek medical attention.”

“Che, you always did care too much about your damn reputation.”

“You always cared too little.”

Shinji’s grin softened into a smile. “And look at us now. Still dickheads after all”

Obata huffed, shaking her head at her old friend. 

Some things never changed.

“Get the fuck out of my office Hirako.”

\--

Urahara jumped up and down on his toes, smiling in a way Shunsui could admit he found a little disconcerting. The man had a way of putting people on edge that put even Kurotsuchi to shame.

 _Oh, now I get it_ , Shunsui thought to himself, _those two are perfect for each other…_

“It’s a barrier of concentrated spirit particles. The only difference between this barrier and the old one is that this beauty learns and adapts in response to the strength of the opponent. It reasons and it develops a strategy to best protect the Soul Palace based on the personal profile of the opponent, which it can do by utilizing the processing power of this computer right here,” Urahara tapped the massive blue screen lovingly, “which has access to all the information collated about every person in Soul Society, every hollow in Hueco Mundo, and every human and or substitute shinigami of note in the transient world. Thinks of this as SPID’s brain: SPID short for spirit particle integration device.”

Shunsui stroked his chin. “So it thinks like a living opponent.”

Urahara’s eyes lit up. “ _Better_. Not only does my baby think, but she heals herself using the spirit particles in the air. She is impossible to destroy because there is never a shortage of spirit particles around for her to use to rebuild herself. Smart, durable, gorgeous,” Urahara purred, rubbing up against the side of the computer like a large cat, giving the keyboard disconcerting bedroom eyes. “That’s _my_ kind of woman.”

“Your kind of woman wears a bell Kisuke,” Kurotsuchi said blandly, rolling his eyes at Urahara’s affronted look. He handed the captain a clipboard. “Sign.”

Urahara did— without looking, Shunsui noticed—and handed back the clipboard, looking sulky. “Soifon would kill me. So, for that matter, would Yorouichi. They’d probably team up to get rid of me in one fell swoop.” 

Urahara looked like the idea intrigued him.

“One can only dream,” Kurotsuchi drawled, and walked away, clipboard tucked under his arm. “Don’t forget to tell Kyouraku about the black list you moron,” he threw over his shoulder right before he rounded the corner. 

Shunsui presumed he was leaving to oversee the division’s progress and make more innocent lab techs regret not killing themselves when they had the chance, but he couldn’t be sure. Probably that was just his hurt pride talking. It would be nice if the man could call him Captain-Commander now that he had been promoted and Kurotsuchi had, in fact, been _de_ moted. Respect might kill the sting of his continuing indifference.

“Ah, yes, the black list.” Urahara clasped his fingers together and looked at Shunsui from under his hair. “Are you familiar with what humans call a bouncer Captain-Commander? They typically work at night clubs and bars…?”

Shunsui scratched his head. “The last time I visited the transient world they were still dumping their, uh, _business_ , in the streets,” he admitted, somewhat abashed.

“Ah, so no then. Well! To put it simply a bouncer is someone employed by a nightclub, bar or other such establishment to prevent troublemakers and other unwanted people entering or to eject them from the premises. Think of SPID here as a kind of bouncer. Someone she doesn’t like comes up to the door? She refuses them. Someone starts making trouble inside the palace? She boots them out. Then there’s her _best_ feature…” Urahara whipped out his fan and fluttered coyly, looking at Shunsui with large, luminous eyes that made him slightly nervous. “All of Soul Society’s criminals, past and present, are logged into her central processing unit in a file program called the ‘black list’. If anyone on the black list even _touches_ her energy field she integrates them,” Urahara said, low and pleased. 

“What do you mean by that?” Shunsui asked, feeling vaguely unsettled by the man’s ominous tone. 

“We’re all made up of spirit particles Captain-Commander. Now normally SPID has a lifetime supply of spirit particles to sustain her just from the air, but when someone from the black list attempts to breach her defences, her secondary protocol kicks in… and she uses them instead.” 

“She kills them by making them a part of her,” Shunsui said, understanding dawning.

He tilted his hat down to hide his troubled expression. It seemed like an awfully cold road to go down, but if it protected the Soul King… Well, that was his job now wasn’t it? Making the hard decisions no one wanted to make, that in a perfect world no one would agree with. It didn’t mean he had to enjoy it though.

“I like to think of it as poetic justice,” Urahara continued happily. “Anyone who would make themself a threat to the Soul King becomes the sword and the shield that protects him.” 

_Poetic justice huh?_

“Aizen Sousuke is on your black list?”

“Captain-Commander,” Urahara said reproachfully, “he is my number one.”

Shunsui grinned lazily, shrugging.

“Just checking. Guy like that… you can never be too careful.”

Urahara hummed in agreement, leaning back against the console. 

“Strange,” Urahara mused, “for you to be asking me about this now, with Aizen’s trial so close. Are you expecting trouble Captain-Commander?” Urahara asked lightly, a little sly.

“If I was, I certainly couldn’t go around telling people,” Shunsui said carefully.

“Ah yes. People would certainly panic if they knew Aizen was not the neutered little pup they thought him to be.” Urahara considered Shunsui’s face carefully. “Perhaps I should head down to the second division, check on my old friend Soifon…”

Privately, Shunsui thought Urahara calling Soifon his friend was kind of like a rabbit calling a fox friend, but he understood what the man was really offering. Shunsui would certainly feel better about Aizen if he knew the man’s bonds were up to scratch.

Shunsui tipped his hat back from his face and smiled pleasantly. He ambled towards the exit, waving over his shoulder as he went. “Give the lovely lady my love, will you Urahara-san?”

\--

Jushirou approached him on the deck while he was drinking tea and thinking deeply about tomorrow’s trial. The other man slid to his knees beside Shunsui and fitted himself into the curve of his body, laying his cheek easily on top of Shunsui’s hatless head. 

They sat in silence for a few moments before Shunsui heard Jushirou cough delicately into his hand.

“Do you think you could go without me tonight?” Jushirou asked quietly, a note of apology in his soft voice.

Shunsui put an arm around his partner, cupping a warm palm around his throat, rubbing the line of his tendon with a gentle thumb. “Sore?”

Jushirou hummed, leaning into Shunsui’s caress. 

“Maybe I should just stay home with you,” Shunsui mumbled.

Jushirou nuzzled his cheek and Shunsui could feel the smile against his jaw. “That would be lovely, but you have a job to do Captain-Commander.”

“It’s just a party.”

“Considering what we know,” Jushirou said gently, “it’s much more than that.”

Shunsui sighed. “I need to talk to Byakuya.”

“He’ll be at the party,” Jushirou reminded him. “It’s a Tamura family event. The heads of all the great noble families will be invited. Your mother included.”

Shunsui shuddered and Jushirou laughed lightly. “I wouldn’t worry Shunsui. The summer castle is several districts from here. Not even your mother could make the trip on such short notice.”

“If anyone could find a way it would be her.”

Jushirou ran his fingers through Shunsui’s hair, brushing his soft mouth over the shell of Shunsui’s ear. “Talk to Byakuya at the party. He is familiar with the Tamura council. He will at least be able to give you an idea of who you should be interested in. We do not know whether the Tamura will be an ally or an enemy of Aizen. If there is a conspiracy to be found I highly doubt it will be involve the clan as a whole. You will most likely be looking for two individuals working in secret: one public face, one private. One will be heavily involved in the trial and the other will provide background support, hold sway in the Central 46 judiciary. There may be more than two people involved, but if there are I doubt they will know the details of what they are involved in. This is all contingent, of course, on there being a conspiracy to uncover.”

Shunsui stroked down Jushirou’s spine, sliding his palm across his ribs. “A duo,” he murmured. “Why?”

“Balance of probability. Central 46 has two separate but equally important bodies of power: the councillors who present cases and the judiciary who judge them. They would need someone committed to the cause on both sides of the fence to hold the appropriate sway over the chamber as a whole.”

“Hmm, yes. Bribery and blackmail only work if you had a way in. The council are not likely to trust anyone not among their ranks after what Aizen did to their predecessors.”

“You are most likely looking for two members of the Tamura family who will be sitting as part of the Central 46 council during Aizen’s trial. One attorney, one judge.”

Shunsui chuckled and dipped a surprised Jushirou back into a hard kiss that left the other man a little breathless. “You’re amazing Juu.”

Jushirou laughed lightly and pressed their foreheads together. “They’ll never see you coming Captain-Commander,” he said warmly.

\--

Urahara Kisuke plodded along the familiar road to the second division’s detention houses with a spring in his step. Aizen’s cell—having been built especially for him by Urahara himself— sat on the very edge of the compound closest to the interrogation wing. When designing the cage he’d had a good laugh imagining Aizen cooped up listening to the sounds of torment coming from within those walls. A subtle torture, definitely not his most sophisticated, but one Urahara was very fond of. 

He wondered whether Aizen would scream when he was executed for his crimes…

Probably not, he thought with no small measure of disappointment.

The cage he had devised for Aizen was a thing of beauty: a kido-resistant, rietsu-resistant, reishi-resistant plexiglass box with a bed roll and a toilet. No escape, no privacy—no preservation of dignity for the would-be-god. It was a little petty, but, well, after everything Aizen put him through Kisuke thought he deserved to be a little petty.

Kisuke came to a stop out the front of Aizen’s cage and peered inside at where Aizen was strapped to the bed using rietsu-restraints that sealed his spiritual pressure. Urahara motioned for the guards to open the cage and approached the bed. 

Predictably, Aizen had his eyes closed, refusing to acknowledge his presence. 

Urahara allowed himself a small measure of amusement at the thought of Aizen having sunk so low that that he had to resort to such juvenile tactics. 

_A shame really_ , Kisuke thought reluctantly, _with a mind like his he could have done some good in the world…_

Since the cage was made to separate Aizen from his spiritual pressure, he would not be able to check Aizen’s bonds were functional using kido. Kisuke removed a sensory wand from his robes and waved it over Aizen’s prone form. This, at least, would tell him the composition of everything it scanned. He would be able to check if the bonds were effectively draining Aizen of his rietsu by studying how much they were taking. He would analyse it back at the lab.

Urahara took one last look at Aizen before he left, marvelling silently that the man looked as fashionably evil as ever, despite the blows Ichigo had dealt to his ego in their final battle. It was either a feat of great strength, or great stupidity to remain unchanged after such a harrowing defeat. 

Urahara shook his head and turned. Some people would never learn...

“Will you be speaking at my trial…Urahara Kisuke?”

The smooth, beguiling voice sent shivers up Urahara’s spine, but he managed to turn and give the fallen god a cheerful smile. “Why of course. I’m a key witness, after all.”

“Among many,” Aizen intoned quietly, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Don’t worry Aizen,” Urahara said kindly. “Your friends will all be there.” Here Urahara smiled, a little cruel, a little mocking. “You can count on it.”

He walked away without hearing what Aizen might have said in response. 

\--

Deep in the bowels of the 12th division, Urahara poured over the results from the sensory wand, noting in his computer log that the bonds seemed to be working at peak efficiency. 

Aizen would not be going anywhere except his court-appointed trial. 

Urahara hummed happily to himself and also noted down the outliers the sensor had picked up: hydrocarbon, steel and chrome from the bedframe, particle dense synthetic cotton from the bedding and linens, the hundred plus elements that make up the body, the—

Urahara paused, hands hovering over the keyboard. 

He peered closer at the results, mind whirling, breathing beginning to pick up as doubt crept into his bones. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and neck and his eyes flared wide in realisation.

“No, that’s impossible,” he said breathlessly, standing so quickly his chair tipped over with a loud clatter. He pulled at his hair, swallowing roughly, mind working impossibly fast. “I have to tell Kyouraku.”

Urahara reached for phone beside the computer. 

A pale hand slipped out of the dark and closed around his wrist, a presence close to his back that he had not sensed until that moment. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice murmured, silky smooth and jarringly familiar. 

Urahara shuddered.


End file.
